Exile of the Clave
by J.C.Sebastian.Morgenstern
Summary: Sera desperately searches for answers across the globe. Rayce struggles with his burden and the weight of his new memories as his Morgenstern legacy threatens to consume him. Alec, Jace and Magnus must find a way to hold together a shattered Clave as they run from their enemies while Clary works to unravel the oldest secrets of the Shadowhunters before it's too late...
1. Chapter 1

**1**

Wind and rain lashed against the cloak that Rayce wore, threatening to tear it free as the clasp dug into his throat during one particularly vicious gust. _If only it was that simple_ , he thought bitterly as the city of Toronto fell away below his mount's hooves.

Memories of Sera washed over him like the rain and he couldn't help but cling to each one like it was the last one he had. Everything about her was alive in his mind. The sound of her laughter, the sunlight in her hair, the curve of her body against his. His hands tightened on the reins and he felt an ache in his chest. If he didn't hold onto the memories, he would lose even those. The Hunt would take everything from him.

He could still taste Sera's last kiss, the salt of her tears as she had implored him to have faith and not give up. The storm whipped his cloak sideways and he pulled it around himself reluctantly. She didn't know. Not like he did. She didn't have Gwyn's memories.

She hadn't seen how it had all begun, where all of this had started or why. She didn't understand that Gwyn had worn the cloak for centuries upon centuries, that he had had someone searching for a way to free him, too. Sera wasn't immortal. She wouldn't have centuries to waste looking for a solution that didn't exist. His days would stretch out into eternity now until he was killed and the cloak found a new master. Echoes of Gwyn's past pressed in on Rayce's mind, but he shrugged them away. He had to remember her.

He raced through the night sky, galloping through the clouds as if he could leave it all behind him, but he couldn't. His life was shackled to the Hunt now. He had tried to tell her not to wait for him, not to spend what precious time she had searching for a way to free him, but the fire that burned inside of her had blazed up and refused. Guilt crushed through him as he remembered the bloom of hope he had felt at her promise to find a way or make one. It was selfish. He had to let her go. He already knew how this ended.

The storm faded around him as he outdistanced it and continued to ride the wind eastward, making for Cadair Idris where the Hunters would be waiting for him to come and Turn his own brother. He closed his eyes. _Baelerithon._

Gwyn's memories surged forward again at the parallel between them once more, and this time Rayce let them come.

 _The earth was a younger place, a more simple land of Men where the Fey could still play at the edges of their world and take their pleasures without consequences even if the greatest among them had begun to vanish and decline. Many had made themselves known to the humans and basked in the glory of being worshipped as deities or feared as demons. Idols were raised and the most wicked among the Faeries delighted in the sacrifices of flesh and wealth, watering the land with the blood of the innocent to renew their strength._

 _Gwyn ap Nudd was not among those malicious enough to prey on the naivete of the humans. He was First Prince to the Unseelie throne, his father's first-born son, and a warrior of great renown. His days were spent protecting his people from the other supernatural creatures that shared their world... and his nights were spent with his beloved Veralysia. They had taken each other as life-mates and sworn to know no other. She would one day rule the Unseelie Court by his side when his father faded from this world. So many of the Greater Fey had begun to do so that Gwyn feared it would not be long before he ascended the throne._

 _The First Prince knocked softly at the door to his father's chamber and waited to be invited in. At the king's command, he stepped through the doorway to the single room and his eyes were immediately drawn to where his father laid in a stone basin lined with tiny blue-white flames that flickered weakly. The Unseelie King rose from the fire and it died out behind him._

" _My son," he greeted him simply. The king's black hair rippled down to his shoulders,held back by the bronze circlet of the Unseelie crown, and Gwyn swiftly knelt to his sovereign._

" _My king sent for me, and so I have come. What service may I render you?"_

 _A smile touched the Unseelie King's lips, though it did not bring any light to his black eyes. He touched his son's shoulder, bidding him to rise._

" _Your loyalty becomes you, Gwyn. I fear it may be sorely tested after this day." He led them to a simple stone table set against the far wall and took a seat, gesturing for his son to take the place across from him. The king took Gwyn's hands in his own, looking down with sorrow in his eyes._

" _Our people are fading," he began slowly, eyes still fixed on his son's hands. "There are only a few among us who know for certain what is happening, and we have kept our silence while we searched for an answer._

" _The Courts whisper as the greatest among us fade away or are slain. Gone are the days of Erebus and Anubis, the days when we were gods among Men, and now we are reduced to shadows of our former glory as the earth's power wanes. The Eternal Forest is no longer nurtured by the blood of sacrifices to us. The roots draw on dry soil, the leaves whither and fall, and so too, do we. The humans multiply and spread like a disease across our world, straining the limits of what can be renewed by the Forest. They have disrupted the balance of the earth, but it will be the Fey who pay the price if a solution is not found, for we are bound to this land."_

 _Gwyn was shaking his head minutely, unwilling to accept what his father was telling him, but knowing that it must be true. He closed his big hands over the king's. "What can we do, father?"_

" _The Eternal Forest must be nourished once more, but it lies deep within the realm of Faerie on the very edge of madness and cannot be safely tended for any length of time." He withdrew his hands from his son's and rubbed his temples slowly as if continuing would pain him. "The others and I believe that we have devised a way to protect someone from the madness of the Forest, but it would require that they sacrifice a part of themselves, that they be changed to withstand the chaos there."_

 _The prince nodded. "Then we must try. It is our duty to save our people."_

 _Black eyes glittered in the soft white Faerie light and the Unseelie King hesitated. "Gwyn... we can only speculate about what may happen if we call upon our power to create this protection for one of our own. We may not have a second chance. Whomever is chosen to bear this burden must be steadfast in their commitment." He paused again. "Loyal."_

 _Gwyn's lips parted as comprehension dawned on him. "You want it to be me."_

 _The king took his son's hands again and he rushed to continue, "I would not ask this sacrifice of you lightly, my son. Ever have your sword and shield stood between our people and darkness, and your great shoulders have carried the burden of protecting the Fey for centuries."_

 _Gwyn bowed his head forward under the weight of what was being asked of him, and when he raised it again to look back across at his father a single tear had rolled down his cheek. "What of Veralysia?"_

" _You must end what you have with her," the king said as Gwyn's brows drew in. The prince covered his mouth with one great hand as his father held the other. "You will be changed, Gwyn, and the Eternal Forest may change you further. You will not be the same man she fell in love with. For her sake, you must leave her."_

 _The prince squeezed his eyes shut, willing the tears not to fall. He could almost feel his beloved's thick, black hair slipping through his fingers like silk as they lay together. He could almost hear the echo of her laughter as they whispered nonsense in the glow of their bedroom, her eyes flashing like perfect onyx. He could almost see the curve of her lips as she smiled and told him she loved him more than anything in the world. Could he give up all of that?_

 _The Unseelie King said nothing, silently watching his son's internal struggle and waiting for the answer he knew he would hear. Gwyn lowered his hand from his mouth and gathered himself._

" _For our people, father."_

 _Events moved quickly after that, and it wasn't long before Gwyn stood on a tiny island in the centre of a deep cavern within the Unseelie kingdom. The water around the island glowed with a murky light from below, making Gwyn uneasy. The five sorcerers who would assist the king formed a circle around the prince and bid him to remove his tunic. He bared his broad chest and waited._

 _The Unseelie King rose out of the shadows on the shore, pale face lit by the unholy cast of the waters. He raised his hands and began chanting in the oldest dialect of their language. The sorcerers on the island joined in as one, their movements mirroring the dark king's as he began walking forward slowly._

 _Gwyn's breathing began to race as his father stepped onto the water and did not fall. The king advanced one step at a time across the surface, and behind him the water of the underground lake began to boil and hiss in response to the conjuring. As he approached, Gwyn felt a flash of true fear strike through his heart at the sight of the spectre before him._

 _The lake roiled wildly behind the king now, and as he stepped onto the tiny spit of land to join his son in the circle of sorcerers, the waters exploded upward around them and hung suspended in mid-air. Not a single drop of water fell on the island as the sheets began to churn sideways in a funnel that surrounded the group._

 _The Unseelie King's cold hands reached out to take hold of his son's shoulders as the sorcerers continued their incantation, and he propelled Gwyn to the very edge of the island, inches away from the wall of water spinning wildly around them. He could no longer see the cavern beyond; his world had shrunk down to only the island and the six Faerie lords controlling the awesome power of the earth._

 _Blue-white light pulsed through the water now and the king's hands slid up to the back of Gwyn's neck, where they began to push his head forward, toward the water. The prince fought back reflexively, trying to pull away, but he was held fast both by the magic and his father. He had time to take one last gasp of air before his face was plunged into the water - no,_ through _the water._

 _His head broke through to the other side and his eyes blinked open, squinting as the ley-laced water stung them. What he saw made his eyes open wide, pain and fear forgotten._

 _An endless starry sky had replaced the cavern, inky blackness stretching out infinitely, stars glittering like diamonds. He tried to gasp in wonder, but he couldn't breathe._ Veralysia _, his mind whispered. His chest convulsed, spasming for air, and he only had a moment more to feel the ache of the night sky before he was pulled back through the curtain of water._

 _Gwyn inhaled desperately and then choked, coughing out lake water as his father's hands released him. He fell to his knees, still fighting to catch his breath. The great, swirling vortex of water collapsed back into the lake around him, once again failing to dampen any part of the island. The chanting had ceased, and the sorcerers had retreated to the opposite side, leaving the king and his son alone._

 _The Unseelie King dipped his right hand down to tilt Gwyn's head up. The prince was breathing weakly, and his eyes fluttered open to look up at his father. Where once his son had had the black eyes of his father, now one was a pale blue that reflected the light of the ley magic lying under the surface of the lake. Marked. Changed._

" _Now you have seen this world and the next, my son, and will tread in both and neither," the king told him quietly. "The protection and blessing of our people goes with you now."_

 _From that day forward, Gwyn ventured forth from the Unseelie Court to travel the world in search of the dead, gathering the fallen to ferry them back to the Eternal Forest. His father gifted him with a mount made from smoke that vanished or appeared with only a thought, and he rode the winds of the world in solitude. The night sky pulled at his heart, but so, too, did a black-eyed beauty in the life he had left behind._

 _Thoughts of Veralysia would surface from time to time as the desolate years passed, but Gwyn was savage in crushing them. He could feel the change in himself. The Otherness that had taken a hold of him behind the veil of water. She couldn't love him now. He had already let her go._

 _His loneliness wore at him, though, as he kept himself carefully apart from those he had once protected. The Gatherer of the Dead had no family, no home. But sometimes he could remember what those things had been like._

 _And so it was that he found himself in the Unseelie Court, desperate for the company of the living. He entered quietly and stood near the very back of the great cavern that served as his father's throne room. A trial for treason was taking place by the sounds of it, his father standing in judgement. Gwyn edged forward cautiously, moving his massive frame slowly through the gathered courtiers until he could see the king._

 _His heart twinged and he felt a flash of longing. Homesickness burned through him as he gazed unseen at his father. He was so enraptured by the feeling of home that he almost didn't hear the king sentence the accused to death. Snapped out of his daze, Gwyn turned his eyes to the condemned Faerie._

 _Matias. One of his own brothers. Medium-length silver hair fell into Matias' black eyes as his head drooped forward in resignation upon hearing his fate. Gwyn felt his mouth go dry. This was such a waste! How could the king throw away one of his own children like this? He lurched forward, no longer caring who he jostled._

" _Father, wait!" he called out, sparking off a wave of murmurs in the crowd as he pushed through the front ranks to stand revealed to the king._

" _Your place is with the dead, Gatherer," the Unseelie King said harshly when he recognized his son._

 _Gwyn pointed at his brother. "He will be dead if your sentence is carried out." His mismatched eyes fixed on the king's, imploring him for mercy. "Spare him, please. Let him come with me, that he may continue to serve the throne in exile."_

 _The courtiers waited with baited breath for the king's reaction, and his eyes flicked across them, taking in their response to his son's foolish outburst._

" _Come." He led Gwyn away from the main cavern and it's whispering watchers, taking him to the warded War Room where they would not be overheard by prying ears. The great stone table was familiar under his hands, a memory from his life before he had been Changed. He had spent a great deal of time in this room._

" _You dare to speak out against my judgement for all the Court to see?" the king seethed at Gwyn._

" _Father, please," he held up his hands as if he could stay the king's anger. "I am lonely. A brother would ease the passing of the years and lighten the burden I carry. Can you find mercy in your heart for him? For me?"_

 _The king's eyes were calculating as they observed his first-born. "You would spare his life only to drive him mad in the Eternal Forest? None may walk your path, save you, Gatherer."_

 _Gwyn took a hesitant step forward. "I am Changed, it is true, but he and I share the same blood. Perhaps he may be spared with mine. If it fails, then I... I will carry out your sentence myself."_

 _His father turned his cold, black eyes on him._

" _Take him."_

 _Gwyn felt a flush of hope in his breast as he bowed his way out of the War Room._

 _He swept Matias into an embrace, elated, but he felt his brother flinch away from him. He drew back, bifurcated gaze searching Matias' black eyes._

" _I may be able to save you, brother, make you like me, that we may ride the winds of the world together."_

 _Matias' expression was unreadable, and for a moment he did not answer. Then a small smile spread across his face. "Ever have you watched over us all, Gwyn. Would you allow me to say farewell to those I love before I join you?"_

 _Gwyn felt relief wash over him. "Of course, Matias. I will take you when you are ready."_

 _But Matias vanished that night, and Gwyn could only feel a crushing sadness in his heart when he beheld the empty bed. The king's wrath was terrible when he summoned his first-born to the War Room once more._

" _You_ will _find him," he hissed at Gwyn. "You will lay down your mantle as a gatherer and become a hunter, now. You will hunt him to the ends of the earth and every corner of the Faerie realm to bring him back!"_

 _Gwyn had no choice but to return to the skies and begin hunting for his vanished brother. Months passed in a blur as he searched, until he finally cornered Matias in a dizzying labyrinth of tunnels that led to a hollow peak under a mountain._

 _Green lichen spotted the walls, and Matias backed away from Gwyn, stopping just at the edge of a natural spring that rose from the floor._

" _It's over, Matias," Gwyn said softly._

 _His brother's eyes were wild, filled with the hunted look of prey that has finally run out of room to flee from a predator. "I don't want to be like you, brother!" he yelled at Gwyn, tears streaking his face. "I don't want your curse!"_

 _The Hunter shook his head sadly. "It's too late for that."_

 _When Gwyn returned to the Unseelie Court with his unconscious prisoner, he found that his father had not been idle in his long absence. The king brought out a heavy black cloak, the shoulders draped with matted fur, and he held it out for Gwyn to inspect._

" _A compromise," he explained. "If your blood can be used to Change your brother, to make him like you, this cloak will bind to you those who follow your path." He fixed his hard gaze on the still form of Matias laying prone at his feet. "You will have no trouble commanding their obedience in the future."_

 _Gwyn looked down at the cloak apprehensively. "Bind... what do you mean to make me now, father?"_

" _Your loneliness weighs on you, but none would choose your path willingly. I will ease your solitude, but I must know that your companions will be loyal and serve. The Eternal Forest must not be forgotten. I would make you a leader."_

" _You would make me a warden," Gwyn said quietly._

" _Yes," the king answered simply. "The cloak must always have a master to hold those of your blood. For so long as you live, you will hold the reins of those who follow you, then they will pass to your successor, and then to his."_

 _Still, Gwyn hesitated. The king made one last push. "Fill your lonely nights with the voices of brothers, ease your burden, and watch as the Eternal Forest flourishes under the care of many," he gave his son a considering look, sensing the need in him, and lifted the cloak in his arms once more. "Save and serve your people, Gwyn."_

 _The once-prince of the Courts closed his big hands around the cloak and drew it slowly across his shoulders. The clasp closed with a sense of finality and the weight of the material felt as if it was pulling him down when he knelt next to Matias._

 _Gwyn drew his sword and sliced across his palm until a line of red welled up. He held his wounded hand over his brother's mouth and watched as his blood trickled down, waiting. His blood scarred the blade where it stained the metal, blackening it as if it had been burned._

 _Long moments passed, and then his brother shot upright, choking on the blood. His eyes were wide open and staring in horror at Gwyn as his right eye began to Change, the black bleeding away to leave silver in its place._

 _Terror shot through Matias, and he felt as though his soul was breaking in two as his brother's blood raced through through his veins, burning a new identity into him. Even as he stared in panic at Gwyn, his vision doubled and showed him an endless night sky, cold and eternal. Its call whispered to him, inviting him, embracing him, but he recoiled and tried to pull away from the vast unknown._

 _Matias leaped to his feet to run for the doorway, and Gwyn felt a rush of fear. "Stop!" he cried._

 _And to his surprise, his brother stopped._

 _The king clapped a hand down on the matted fur over Gwyn's shoulder and squeezed. "I want your oath on this, my son. Serve your people. Gift some of your takings to the Courts. Take only men into your service, that you will not be distracted from your duty," he paused and turned to face Gwyn properly. "And do not interfere with the workings of the Courts again."_

 _Still staring in horror at where his brother remained trapped by the compulsion of the cloak, he numbly made his vows to his father._

 _Where one Gatherer had worked before, now two laboured, and the Eternal Forest slowly began to reflect the change. Gwyn and Matias grimly fed the bodies of the dead to the monstrous trees, the great roots sprinkled with the blood of the fallen. Ley energy began to creep upwards again as the balance of the Forest slowly tipped back in favour of the Fey._

 _The Unseelie King could feel the power returning to the earth as the Forest fed, his strength returning as he pulled back from the edge of fading. As the years passed, he sentenced others to join his sons in their work, greedy for more power. Criminals from both Courts found their way to Gwyn, swelling his ranks._

 _Although they were bound to obey him, they found other ways to circumvent his leadership, many of which led to 'accidents' as they hunted down those who had not yet passed into the realm of the dead. They were wild and feral, Changed by his blood, by the pull of the next world that left this one feeling all too empty sometimes._

 _He pretended not to hear when the courtiers whispered, 'Wild Hunt' as he passed through the Courts to collect the condemned. Instead, he quietly asked that his new brothers be sent into the Mortal world above to await the Change in the lonely place where he had cornered Matias all those years ago._

 _And so the legend of the Wild Hunt had grown. They had been known by many names. The Cŵn Annwn, the Hounds of the Underworld, the Wild Hunt; the name may have changed, but the work remained the same, and they continued to bring the dead to the Eternal Forest._

 _Centuries passed unmarked, and although Gwyn was surrounded by his new blood kin, he had never felt so alone. He slept apart from them, kept them at a distance. Some, he had felt a kinship to. His distant half-brother, Kieran, protected by the Unseelie King's orders. A young half-Shadowhunter, Mark, unwelcome by the others and made to suffer for it. But these companions were few and far between, and he felt the loneliness seep back in during the decades when he did not have Hunters like them._

 _And sometimes, when the stars were especially bright and the air was cold in the north, the night sky would be just right. He would look up at the darkness to mark the shining stars, eyes searching, heart reaching for the wonder he had glimpsed on the other side of the water. That was when he would exhale softly and allow himself to whisper her name._

 _Veralysia._

Rayce shook away the haunting memory of Gwyn's love, his own pain at losing Sera too great to combine with this ancient grief. His mount had carried him to Cadair Idris while he had been lost in the swirl of Gwyn's recollections, but he was still shaken by the weight of the Hunt's history. He circled past the opening in the hollow peak and set down at a smaller entrance. He would need time to gather himself, to pull his own identity closer around him and push away the dead man's past.

He passed a broken-down automaton rusting quietly into oblivion as it stood watch over the entrance and he felt again the weight of centuries he hadn't lived press down on him. He wrenched a torch from behind the silent sentinel and sketched a quick rune with his stele to light it. The twisting corridors below Cadair Idris held no secrets from the Lord of the Hunt, and his black-cloaked form slipped quickly through the darkness toward the central chamber.

 _Sera_. He held her close in his mind and armoured himself in memories of her. Her playful smile in the rain the night before they had entered the Rift. How she had looked in the werewolf den with twin seraph blades blazing in her hands, _shifting_ and slashing through the melee, fearless. The vulnerability in her sleeping face as she lay in a bed of moss, unaware of his impending betrayal. Black hair sliding through his fingers like silk... _No!_ He howled at Gwyn, _You're dead!_

Rayce broke away from the path he was following, close now to his destination, and he doubled over in a side chamber, gasping.

"I won't let you win, Gwyn," he whispered, voice rising as anger crept in around the edges. He shouted into the empty room, "Do you hear me? I won't let you win!" Only the sound of his own breathing answered him.

He closed his eyes and dropped the torch, covering his face with his hands, trying to push away the memories of Veralysia that stained Sera's golden eyes black and faded the glowing sheen of her skin to alabaster. Rayce lost track of how long he stood alone in the dying light of his torch, eyes closed, heart racing as he savagely hunted down errant memories to force them back, locking them away. He had already lost his body and soul; he refused to lose his mind.

A feather-light touch brushed the side of his neck, skimming slowly down to the hollow of his throat, and Rayce froze, eyes still closed. The trail continued back up the other side, soft and soothing. His heart ached for the memory of Sera's touch, and he surrendered himself to the sensations, lost and alone.

Shivers raced down his spine as he felt the cool touch slip to the back of his neck to trace a slow circle on the delicate skin there, reassuring and gentle. Rayce bowed his head forward as he sighed with pleasure, Gwyn's memories temporarily banished, his own already scattering. He felt some of his burden lift as he stopped fighting and just let himself go.

The hand slid up into his hair patiently, nails lightly raking along the base of his neck, both calming and exciting him in the same motion. A second hand pressed tenderly against his chest before gliding down to trace the hard lines of his abdomen though his shirt, and Rayce gasped softly in surprise. It was just enough to rouse him from the addictive seduction, and he lifted his head slowly to find black and silver eyes looking back at him knowingly over a half-smile that curled up perfect lips.

Rayce was still dazed by the encounter, his mind still too clouded to remember the betrayal. All he could think of was how good it had been to let go. "Kieran...?"

"You don't have to do this alone," the Hunter whispered. "I can help you forget." The hand on Rayce's abdomen slipped a few inches lower and he closed his eyes again as his body fell back under the spell.

Kieran pulled himself closer with the hand that was caressing the back of Rayce's neck, and he exhaled softly as he brushed his lips across the Shadowhunter's throat. "I can be everything you need," he breathed.

His other hand circled around to slide up under Rayce's shirt and drift across the smooth skin of his lower back, fingers pressing gently across the muscle there. Rayce's head was spinning from the assault on his senses. He could smell the alluring, wild scent of the the Hunter as he pressed closer, threads of gold showing through his lightening hair. Kieran's hands were setting off shocks of pleasure throughout his body, and the Hunter's voice mesmerized him, spinning him deeper into his thrall.

Kieran slowly grazed the smooth skin of his cheek up the Shadowhunter's neck until his lips were at Rayce's ear. "I can give you forever," he sighed as his other hand came up and pulled Rayce's lips to his own.

Shock flooded through Rayce, but Kieran took control of the kiss swiftly, his mouth firm and demanding as he tightened his embrace. The Shadowhunter felt helpless, unable to control himself, and a soft moan escaped him as his lips parted to give himself over. Kieran's tongue teased expertly at his own and then Rayce was falling, falling, lost.

Kieran's heart soared as his hands roamed across his beautiful Shadowhunter's body, drinking in the hard muscles, getting drunk on the glory of Heaven returned to him at last after all these years. His body ached with need as Rayce explored tentatively, still so inexperienced, and he dreamed of the nights they would share together, the things he could teach him.

He stole another kiss from Rayce's eager lips, their mingled breath hot as he broke away to whisper fiercely, "You'll forget her, I promise. Then it will just be us."

Rayce's mind jarred to a halt, the spinning swirl of pleasure forgotten. _Sera._

He pushed back hard from Kieran, breaking their embrace, still panting from the desire that was quickly draining away. His mind began to clear as he held on to the image of Sera, using it to shatter the haze created by the Hunter. He felt his rage at being ensnared once more begin to build.

Kieran drew back defensively, watching as Rayce's body tensed. "There's nothing you can do, Rayce. My father's deal protects me within the Hunt." He paused and spread his hands, lips curving up into a now-familiar smirk. "You may as well take pleasure in your exile."

The flickering rage in Rayce's eyes lasted a few more seconds before his shoulders relaxed and he looked down in defeat. Kieran's smile widened triumphantly and he closed the distance between them once more. He reached up to twist his fingers possessively back into Rayce's hair, and his lips brushed across his Shadowhunter's. "You're mine, now."

Rayce accepted the kiss, his mind working darkly as his body responded, and he gently knotted the fingers of his left hand into Kieran's hair. He tugged at it lightly, playfully, and broke the kiss, breathless and smiling coyly at the Hunter. "I have to tell you something first," he whispered.

Kieran closed his eyes as Rayce nuzzled into his neck, tongue tracing a path up to where it flicked out to tease the Hunter's earlobe, teeth nipping tantalizingly as his breath sent thrills of pleasure down Kieran's spine.

Rayce paused in his play to whisper almost inaudibly, "Your father didn't make any deals with _me."_

His right hand whipped up, palm snapping back to strike hard at Kieran's face. He heard cartilage crack as the Hunter's nose broke, and blood spurted between them. He dropped his grip on the back of Kieran's neck as the stunned Faerie staggered back from the unexpected attack.

He slammed his hands against the Hunter's chest and bore him to the ground, straddling his hips to pin him down. Kieran was still stunned, but he raised his arms to defend himself as Rayce pulled back his right hand and curled it into a fist.

The Morgenstern ring on his finger drew more blood from the Faerie as the first blow fell, and Rayce felt a wild darkness swell within his breast. The forgotten torch burned weakly where it lay on the floor, but the light was enough to cast his shadow across the ceiling, stretching and distorting it.

Some of the skin over his knuckles split as he viciously beat the Hunter, adding his blood to the mix, and he felt a savage pleasure as Kieran's defense crumbled. He stopped then, chest heaving as he looked down at where his bloodied rival lay unconscious.

Rayce's mind flashed back to what Kieran had said to him after the cloak had taken a new master. He leaned back and closed his right hand around the hilt of a familiar enchanted dagger at the Faerie's belt. He remembered how their last fight had ended.

Sliding the blade free from its sheath slowly, his eyes travelled down Kieran's body. Without another moment of hesitation, he jammed the blade down through the palm of the Hunter's right hand, steel and magic biting into the stone floor. He felt the cold satisfaction of what would soon be twin scars for the Unseelie, and then he leaned over to whisper in a low, dangerous voice,

"Maybe I _am_ just like you.


	2. Chapter 2

**2**

Sera was filled with restless energy.

Every cell in her body was screaming at her to get moving _now_ , find a solution _now_ , save him _now,_ but she needed to think. After spending the equivalent of nearly an entire day sleeping, there was no way she was going to sleep now, so she may as well stay up and plan. She raided Seraphine's study for a notebook and a pen, reminded with a pang that her own notebook was still in possession of the Consul in the Gard.

She hopped up into one of the bar stools at the kitchen counter and set her pen to the page to begin scrawling. Her Mnemosyne rune was practically prickling as she started dredging through her memories for absolutely anything she could scrounge up about the Fey or the Wild Hunt. If she was going to find a way to free Rayce, she was going to need to learn the nature of the trap that had ensnared him.

Dozens of cities flashed through Sera's mind as she flipped through the catalogue of safe-houses she had established all over the globe with her creatively-won fortune. Some were no more than a tiny flat tucked away in a nondescript apartment building, but others were much more comfortable, like her Las Vegas home.

The common link between all of the locations she had chosen was their proximity to major hubs of traffic for Downworlders and Shadowhunters alike. She had been able to mingle from behind the safety of her powerful glamours, keeping a finger on the pulse of the world as she had watched and waited for the time to come to safely bring Rayce out of the Seelie Court. Five years was a long time, and she had met _a lot_ of Downworlders. The only question now was which ones were going to be useful to her. And which ones could keep their mouths shut.

She was so lost in her scribbling that she hardly noticed as the room slowly brightened around her, the new dawn breaking over the lake through the wall of glass behind her. She was staring vacantly at the tap on the kitchen sink, lost in thought, when she heard a key slide into the lock of the front door.

Sera pushed back the stool and rose, her hands spotted with ink from the pen, and she crossed the kitchen to the hall where Seraphine was just pushing open the door. The warlock's eyes were red and she had clearly been crying. This had certainly been a night for that.

"Sera!" The tiny warlock threw her arms around her friend's waist and squeezed, tears beginning anew. Her clothes smelled of ashes and smoke.

The Shadowhunter gently stroked Seraphine's mop of black curls, careful to avoid the cat ears, since she absolutely would not abide anyone touching them. Sera shushed the warlock gently and whispered, "It's okay, Seraphine. We're going to get him back."

The smaller woman pulled back and looked up at Sera with unrestrained sadness in her eyes. "Oh, Sera, it's not just him. It's Alicante!"

"Alicante?" Sera felt a lurch of fear rush through her heart.

"It's burning!" The warlock buried her face back into Sera's chest, tears spotting the white corset that was now smeared with ash from her own clothes. "The Unseelie were planning it all along, the whole thing, ever since the Dark War ended! They quietly hooked lines of ley magic into all of the restorations they did, and last night they surged the whole system! It's... I just can't. I can't even..." She dissolved back into tears as Sera rocked back on her heels.

 _Destroyed!_ Her mind flashed back to a dream she had written in her notebook about Alicante resting on a chain of volcanoes that had all exploded at once. She'd never imagined something like this, though. The Shadowhunter home city razed in a single blow... the world wasn't prepared for this.

Seraphine hiccoughed and dropped her hands from around Sera. "I Portaled to Idris as soon as I heard, but the wards kept me from getting right into the city." She brushed at her eyes. "I have to go back; there's so much to do, but I wanted to be the one who told you."

"Thank you," Sera said softly, reaching back out to wrap her arms around the warlock again. No matter that she had only been there once; Alicante was every Shadowhunter's home, no matter where they were raised. What the Unseelie had done was unforgivable.

"I'm just going to nip into the kitchen for a drink and then get back – it's bloody inconvenient that they won't let us come in through the Gard Portal, but no one can find the interim Consul to give the order in the chaos." Seraphine moved toward the kitchen.

"Interim Consul?" She had a bad feeling about this.

The warlock hesitated as she opened the fridge. "Maybe I should stay a bit longer and catch you up a bit." She filled a glass from the water pitcher and took it back to the counter, looking down with interest at the mess of pages covered in Sera's scrawl. She raised an eyebrow but Sera waved her off.

Seraphine gave the Shadowhunter the condensed version of what had happened from what she had been able to learn from others who had tried to contain the fires. No one had been able to find Alec Lightwood or Magnus Bane yet, and messages had been sent to Herondale Manor with no response. Everett Whitelock had been named interim Consul until an election could be held, but there had been no sign of him yet. The Shadowhunters were scattered, disorganized, and dangerously unprepared if the Unseelie launched an attack now to take advantage of the havoc they had created.

"They won't," Sera speculated. It was her turn to relate what she had seen of the battle for the Seelie Court in her dream, and Seraphine's eyebrows made an excellent attempt to vanish into her hairline. She shook her head. "Unbelievable."

"Believe it," she answered.

"So, what's all this?" The warlock gestured at the mess on the counter.

"I need answers, and I've got some decent leads for where to start looking for them. I'm going back to my place in Vegas to set up shop. I can't stay here – everything reminds me of him." She had been doing so well, but she felt a lump rise in her throat as she said it.

Seraphine reached up and lightly touched her face. "I can come with you, Sera. You don't have to do this alone."

The Shadowhunter shook her head. "They need you more in Alicante." She took one small hand in her own. "Help them, Seraphine. I'll call you if something comes up."

The warlock hugged her friend again. "You had better. I want him back, too, damn it." Sera let out a surprised laugh and then pulled away to gather her notes and shove them into Rayce's pack. It felt good when she slung it over one shoulder, the weight of her boots inside clunking against her back.

Hands glowing pink, Seraphine's fingers curled up as she looked at Sera. "Where do you want the Portal?"

"It's okay – I learned a new trick in Idris. I've got this." She laid the palm of her left hand against the living room and a rune blazed to life, Portal spiralling open in front of her. She smiled widely at her friend before waving and stepping through.

"Well, that's bad for business," Seraphine huffed under her breath.

After a flurry of rapid Mandarin, Sera hung up and sighed. _Unbelievable_. She scrolled through her phone and then flicked open one of her Asian bank accounts to authorize a wire transfer while fighting back the urge to smash something. There was greed, and then there was _greed._ When the transfer was complete she tossed the phone down on her bed and turned her attention back to packing.

Her Las Vegas home was a quiet bungalow just ten minutes away from the Strip, and she tried to keep a low profile here. Sadly, a raging smash-fest did not fall under the category of 'low profile', so it would have to wait. Early-morning light filtered through the sheer curtains of her bedroom, the clear blue sky outside as perfect as always over Sin City.

It wasn't even 5am here, and she was already starting to feel the beginnings of a headache forming as she contemplated the kind of Portal-lag she was going to be experiencing now that she had access to them. However, no need for anyone else to know about it – she had booked her meeting in Singapore for the next day as if she still needed to fly. _What am I going to do with all those Air Miles now?_

She knelt down at the edge of her bed and rolled back the mat on the hardwood floor that covered the access to her weapons stash here. When she pried up the trapdoor she was relieved to see that everything was exactly the way she had left it. Her eyes passed over her crossbow and she reluctantly dismissed it. Not the right choice right now. She let her fingers trail down a matched pair of cold iron blades as she considered her meeting. Jiahao. She hadn't met him personally before, but she knew _of_ him from her time in Singapore.

Rumours whispered that Jiahao had been a Lord of the Seelie Court, once, but had abruptly fallen out of favour with the Queen centuries ago. He had chosen to flee rather than risk execution or exile to the Hunt, and he had never set a foot back into the realm of Faerie. Jiahao had embraced life among the Mundanes with zeal, allegedly spending decades as a pirate in the South China Sea through the 17th and 18th centuries. In more modern times, he had established himself as a wealthy private citizen dealing in antiquities. Sera's hope was that he would be old enough to remember when the Hunt was still young, that he might have some scrap of knowledge about its beginnings.

She looked at the clock on her bedside table and sighed. Now she had the one thing she didn't want – time to kill. Still 14 hours left until the meeting. The allure of the Strip called to her. It would be easy to lose herself in the glamour, even at this hour. There was always a party going on somewhere. She chewed on the inside of her lip as she thought about it.

 _No._ She shook her head. The best way to avoid the temptation of the casinos was to get away from them.

The iron blades followed her cellphone onto the bed and then she slipped the trapdoor back into place, covering it with the rug again. Sera packed a bag of toiletries and a change of clothes for the morning and then zipped up the suitcase. She felt slightly awkward with it. _Is packing a suitcase to Portal a thing? Am I being weird right now?_ On the other hand, it was nice to be able to pack some weapons without worrying about airport security. She wouldn't even have to take off her shoes.

After a quick shower, she finally discarded Arynessa's clothes, dropping the ash-smeared bundle into the trash. She still hadn't forgiven the new Seelie Queen for selling her own brother to Remy in the Rift. Necessary or not, she still wanted to slap that perfect face.

She pressed her palm up against the wall and called up a memory of the Marina Bay Sands hotel from her last stay. The Portal took her to the elevator bay of the 32nd floor and she quickly allowed it to fall closed behind her while searching for any sign of Mundanes. Nothing. She breathed a sigh of relief.

It was easy to take the elevator down to the front desk and book a room for the night. _Oh yes,_ this _is the way to travel_ , Sera thought to herself. Room key in hand, she headed back up the elevator to the 28th floor and let herself into her room. The clock told her that it was almost 9pm and she shook her head in amazement. Well, at least she'd get to sleep while it was dark now.

The night passed fitfully as Sera tried to force her dreams to show her something useful. Swirling images of a sleekly beautiful male Asian Faerie taunting her as she slapped Arynessa and held her face-down in a sink filled with blood. She dreamed of dancing with Rayce across the night sky, his face hidden behind a black domino mask as they stepped lightly across the stars. A maddened jackal snapped at a black cat and came up with empty jaws. Sera opened her eyes reluctantly to greet her third morning that day.

"Garbage," she whispered, berating herself. "Useless, useless, useless!" She kicked back the covers and went to brush her teeth a bit more forcefully than necessary.

One hour of surprisingly air-conditioned public transit later found her standing in front of Jiahao's antique store, the white-washed building starkly decorated with black and red accents. She took a moment to reapply her glamour rune and took a deep breath.

Sera gave her first name to the dryad at the counter and was shown upstairs, past the tasteful pieces on display. The upstairs cases, however, were anything but tasteful.

Jiahao's private office was a long room complete with a red carpet running down the centre that led to his desk at the end. The walls were covered in dark wood shelves filled with exotic pieces... literally.

Sera could see hooves and horns carefully affixed to bases with tiny silver plaques, and there were several different varieties of tails preserved and pinned to boards to display their full length. A veritable rainbow of colourful spills of hair was offset by unique Faerie ears and Sera felt her stomach lurch at the sight. She passed the shelves and tried not to see the Fey trophies, but it was nearly impossible to avoid seeing what was clearly one of Jiahao's most prized pieces. A single dark, leathery wing was pinned fully-extended to its full 6-foot span inside a glass case that had been custom-built for it. Sera shivered when she saw it, a spark of recognition in her mind that she refused to acknowledge.

She had just reached the desk when a door opened to the left and Jiahao swept into the room. His wide cheekbones were balanced by a strong jaw that was lightly-stubbled to match the shading of a moustache on his upper lip. His almond-shaped eyes were completely black, though Sera knew that he would probably glamour them to a more Mundane appearance in public. He appeared to only be in his late twenties, but she wondered just how many centuries those eyes had seen.

"Welcome, Sera," he greeted her, his voice smooth and melodious. "I cannot recall the last time I entertained one of the Nephilim."

"And I'd appreciate it if you could continue to not recall entertaining this one, Jiahao," Sera answered levelly.

He bowed his head slightly and invited her to take the seat in front of his desk. "Perhaps this visit can slip my memory. You've expended a great deal of money and effort to meet with me – what brings you to Singapore, little Shadowhunter?"

"The Wild Hunt." She crossed her legs casually and leaned back. "I'm looking into its origin, researching its formation and purpose. I thought the best way to start doing that would be to find an old Faerie and see what came up. It interests me." Sera's mind worked overtime to think like one of the Fey, to play their own game of half-truths to disguise her need.

"A strange hobby for one of the Nephilim, I think," Jiahao's black eyes bored into her as his eyebrow lifted, not buying her nonchalance. "Perhaps you have a more... personal... interest?"

Sera's lips compressed. "Perhaps you should stick to telling me what you know about the Hunt."

Jiahao leaned forward. "Perhaps you should remember where you are sitting."

Her eyes flicked involuntarily to the shelves and display cases of gruesome trophies and she felt her heart rate speed up.

"Perhaps if you 'perhaps' me one more time, I'll 'definitely' take a piece of you with me when I leave," she threatened.

He laughed out loud at her and spread his hands to take in the macabre decor. "I think not, foolish Shadowhunter. These are all tokens from lovers I've taken over the years, and I hold no love for you, nor you for I." He braced his hands on the desk and stood, looming over her. "Your city of glass has become a city of ashes now, child of the Nephilim. I think you'll find that there may be a great change in the world on the horizon, and the days of Downworlders bowing to Shadowhunters may soon be coming to an end."

Dark menace began to seep quietly from the Faerie Lord where he stood over her but Sera stood up defiantly. "Tell me what you know of the hunt, Jiahao. I paid for answers."

His lips curled up into a smile and he made a neat gesture with his hands. "You paid for a meeting." The door he had come through opened again and two Faerie knights marched through. "We have met." The pair of Fey took hold of her arms and started pulling her back to the main door. She considered breaking free and forcing Jiahao to tell her what she needed to know, but she discarded the idea. She wasn't ready for this fight. He'd outfoxed her and caught her in her pride.

The guards pulled her out of the office, and just as the door closed she yelled back over their shoulders at Jiahao, "Gan xie shen me, hun dan!" She only heard laughter as she was hustled downstairs and back out into the street.

Sera stepped through her Portal back into Vegas in a huff. What a spectacular waste of time. She hadn't considered what the razing of Alicante would do to the political climate of Downworld. Surely the Nephilim were taking steps to reassure their allies and continuing to provide a stabilizing force for the Shadow World.

It was dark outside and her clock said it was just after 11pm. _On which day, again? By the Angel, I feel like today is never going to end. Can I even say 'today' at this point?_ She started stripping off her clothes to shower away the Singapore humidity, grateful to return to the dry heat of the desert.

Her internal clock was completely messed up when she emerged from the washroom wrapped in a fluffy blue towel. She opened her closet and considered her options, reaching out to absently feel the sheen of one of her favourites, a shimmering gold dress that hugged every curve.

"Fuck it," she said under her breath as she pulled it off the hanger. It would still only be mid-morning in Prague, and she needed it to be nighttime there before she could make her next stop. She had more of her least-favourite kind of time now, and she was determined to kill it properly this time.

A simple glamour rune lightened her hair to a more uniform blond and faded her complexion to just plain tanned so that she could slip into a taxi like any other twenty-something in Las Vegas. She leaned her head back against the well-worn seat and sighed. _Any other twenty-something with an impossible problem to solve._

She started her night at the Aria and moved quickly, getting back into her stride as she pulled at the edges of her gift to get a flash of a roulette wheel here or the toss of a pair of dice on the craps tables there. It didn't take long to start building her winnings, but she kept moving, restless. She felt like something was pulling at her and she tried to follow it without success.

It was around 2am when she finally took a seat at a bar in the Bellagio, kicking off her heels to rub her feet a bit. She ordered a pair of shots and tossed them back, staring into the mirror behind the bottles. Music and laughter surrounded her, and the smell of cigarette smoke was everywhere. The world was so full of _life –_ so why did she feel so dead?

"Lay-dee Luck!" A voice startled her out of her rumination and she looked over her left shoulder as a young man sidled up onto the bar stool next to her. He was completely unremarkable – mousy brown hair that looked like his mother still cut it in the kitchen at home and a scrawny build that he tried to improve with stylish clothes... without success. He was wearing a navy blue button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, baring his paradoxically pale forearms. He was a native of Las Vegas, yet he never seemed to tan _or_ burn. Sera had previously put forth the theory that he was so white he was actually reflecting the sun. He hadn't been amused. His defining feature, though, was the pair of dark sunglasses that hid his milky eyes.

"God, Steven, what kind of cologne is that?" Sera wrinkled up her nose as the smell assaulted her.

"Ah... Eau de Sexy?" he ventured innocently.

"Mmhmm. More like Eau de Please Shower As Soon As Possible." She signalled the bartender for another shot. She was going to need it.

"I kept the receipt, don't worry," he reassured her.

"I won't."

The shot arrived and Sera downed it as Steven's face lit up with a smile. "I was thinking of some new names for my act. What do you think of 'Mysterio'?"

Sera coughed, the alcohol burning the back of her throat a bit. "I don't think you can afford the copyright infringement lawsuit."

"What about 'The Vegas Voyeur'?" He lifted his hands and spread them above his head as if visualizing his name in lights.

"You're going to get arrested."

"'The Blind Wonder!'"

"Steven. Stop. You're going to hurt yourself." Sera signalled for another drink and the bartender lifted his eyebrow. She waved off his concern and rolled her eyes sideways at her unexpected company.

"No, I won't," Steven protested.

She poked a finger at his chest. "Then I'll help you hurt yourself – you feel me?"

He brushed her finger away casually. "Ooooh, you're a bitch when you're drunk, Sera."

"Uh huh, you should see me sober. What's up? I don't really need you blowing my cover right now." Her drink arrived and she closed her hand around it, but left it on the bar.

"Relax. Everyone else is seeing you with their eyes." He waggled his eyebrows at her. "I'll always see you with my heart."

"I'm still not going to sleep with you, Steven."

His face fell in mock disappointment. "Maybe not yet. But a guy can dream, okay?" He cleared his throat before continuing in a lower voice. "Did you hear about what happened to Alicante?"

"Yeah," Sera's voice slipped. "I've heard. I'm interested to know how a Mundane already knows about it, though."

"I'm _mostly_ Mundane," he corrected her sulkily. "And you know that I listen extra hard around here to make up for this." He gestured at his sunglasses.

"I hope you have something better than that to risk exposing me like this, Mister Mostly-Mundane."

"Ooh, that's catchy. And yeah. I've been trying to find you all night just to give you a message, only to get an earful of abuse instead." He hung his head, milking the sympathy card.

"You love it when I abuse you. What's the message?"

He grinned. "Yeah... I do. I had a dream about you last night," he held his hands up defensively. "Not the usual one! A real one." Sera's eyes widened. She and Steven had met almost three years ago when she had seen him in her dreams. He had lost his sight in an accident at work, but the event had served as a catalyst to give him a whole new Sight instead. She had sought him out at the hospital after seeing him in need of her guidance, not to mention the small fortune it had cost to cover his medical bills. They had been casual friends ever since, with Sera frequently acting as a mentor to him as he learned to direct his gift. It was weak when compared to her own ability, but she felt a kinship with this weird boy. He was the only one who could really understand what it was like.

"What kind of dream?" she asked.

"It was short. Like really short. But it had that _oomph_ , you know? That heavy feeling like it was important. You were walking down an alleyway that was bricked with skulls, and it was narrowing as you kept following it with your eyes closed. I felt some super bad ju-ju when a black cat crossed your path, and then the walls snapped closed, trapping you." He paused. "It was some bad shit, Sera. I know I can't do what you do, but this really gave me the creeps."

She laid a hand on his arm comfortingly. "I'm sorry you had to see it. Did you get any premonitions with it?" She had often lectured him to not just _see_ his dreams, but to also _feel_ them, since looks could be deceiving.

His face twisted with doubt. "I don't know. There was just like, this _feeling_ , like you were looking so hard for someone else that you were blinding yourself to... uh... yourself." He shook his head helplessly.

Sera signalled for one more drink and pointed to her friend when the bartender shook his head. " _You're_ the blind seer here, Steven. Not me."

"Are you sure about that?" he asked quietly. He heard the bartender set the glass down in front of him and his face widened into a lopsided smile. "Did you just buy me a drink?"

"Sure. You earned it."

"You know this means we're officially on a date, right?" He looked excited.

"And that means I'm officially done." Sera downed the shot in her hand and stood up to slide her feet back into her heels unsteadily.

Steven turned in the bar stool as if he really could see her and raised the glass in a toast. "You can't resist the Clairvoyant Cassandro forever, Sera!"

She paused, one hand gripping the bar for support. "You know, that one's not bad."

"Really? He asked eagerly.

"Yeah." She leaned to give him a quick peck on the cheek. "It's terrible."

The rest of the night was a blur for Sera, but she must have made it home at some point because she woke up in her own bed after a swimming haze of dreams. As consciousness returned, she blinked at the bright sunlight streaming through her window. Her clock read a little after 2pm and she swore softly. Portaling around the world was hell on her body – it would already be after 11pm in Prague.

She threw back the sheet and peeled off the gold sheath dress. Tonight wasn't going to be about having fun; this was business. Sera pulled out a short, skin-tight black dress that gave her a very unique profile with its asymmetrical one-shoulder design and cutouts that slashed down the sides to tease at what lay beneath. Tonight she had to look enticing while seeming harmless if she wanted to get close enough to her target.

Sera slid into a pair of black platform stilettos that had a criss-crossing pattern climbing to her ankles and then grabbed a tiny clutch bag to conceal a small silver dagger. The dress didn't leave very many places to hide weapons, and if she had to fight her way out tonight there was no way she would be able to hide enough to survive anyway. She keyed in the combination to her wall safe and loaded a fat stack of bills into the clutch alongside the dagger.

Now for the hard part. She stood in front of the mirror in her washroom and pulled open one of the drawers. Delicate prosthetics lay within and she took a deep breath. In the past, she had occasionally needed to alter her appearance for extended periods of time where her glamour runes would burn away far too quickly under the eyes of many. It was risky to try this where she was going, but it was safer than the alternative, and she could rely on her own unusual colouring to work _for_ her this time instead of against her.

As she began to apply the small prosthetics that would change the shape of her ears to look more Fey, she let her mind drift back to the sludge of dreams she had had while drunk. Drinking usually messed around with her dreams, and last night (this morning?) had been no exception.

The clearest image she had seen was of Rayce and Gwyn tied together back-to-back under the cloak of the Hunt, each one struggling to break free of the other. Her heart lurched at the memory of seeing Rayce with his split-colour eyes and the dark anger she had felt in him. Her gentle prince would vanish forever under that cloak if she couldn't find a way to free him from it.

She started blending the edges of the prosthetics to make them seamlessly transition to her own as the memory of an unfamiliar female Faerie flashed across her mind. Silky black hair blew in the storm of centuries as they passed in the deep depths of a rocky canyon, her black eyes open and staring disconsolately as white streaks crept in to mar the inky perfection of her tresses. Her pale face remained dispassionately expressionless as apathy turned into atrophy, ageing her features until her former beauty was obscured by the years. She did nothing to prevent it, her dead gaze fixed and unseeing.

Sera shivered a bit to remember that empty stare and hesitated as she pulled out a box of solid black theatrical contacts. She sighed and put them in, blinking to settle them in place. Her reflection became much more unsettling as gold vanished under black, and she was now looking back at a passable imitation of a high-born Faerie with a shimmering gold complexion. A bit of work with concealer hid her runes, then she put her hair up into a messy sweep and added a pair of dangling silver disc earrings to complete the look. She was as ready as she could be now.

The familiar swirl of a Portal opened under her hand in the living room and she stepped through to a familiar street in Prague. It was nearing midnight as her heels clicked along ancient streets and she tossed her head back, chin held high confidently. She wasn't going to repeat the mistakes she had made with Jiahao.

There were no street signs in this part of the city, but she knew the way, and she soon descended the shallow stone steps that led down into a tiny square where a flashing neon sign read Kosti Lustr as it flickered from red to blue to gold over a black doorway.

A pounding bass line of electric trance music washed over Sera as she walked into the interior of the club. What had once been a church had been converted into a writhing pit of lithe bodies twisting under strobe lights in the throes of mad pleasure. The air was humid and heavy with the smell of bodies and fake smoke from machines mounted above. Sweat glistened off exposed flesh in the lights and white shirts glowed eerily where black lights bathed parts of the club. Sera could feel the music thudding in her chest and up through her feet as she threaded through the crowd of Mundanes who served as an unwitting cover for the real party below.

An archway on the far wall led her to a stone stairway that was worn smooth with age and the passing of countless thousands of feet as they had made the descent. Cool air trailed up her legs as she moved downwards and a new, more insistent music replaced the old. She felt it getting inside of her, waking up that wild part of that wanted nothing more than to throw herself into the fray and _live._ Her heart raced along with the beat and she didn't notice as her lips curled up into a small feral smile.

The real club stretched out before her as she stepped off the last stair and she felt a savage longing swell in her chest as her black eyes settled on the massive statue of a dark-winged angel rising on the far wall. Marble fountains spilled water down to splash into basins filled with fallen flower petals. Inhuman faces and bodies spun and danced on the floor, and above them all, a great chandelier of bones dripped black wax from its candles down into the crush of bodies below.

Sera forced herself to turn away from the lure of the dance floor and she made her way toward the gleaming black marble bar to the left of the stairs. It was lit with black lights that gave the vampire bartender a terrifying cast, particularly when he turned his eyes towards her. He was wearing what must have been orange contacts, and they were reacting to the unnatural light, glowing like demon's eyes.

She regretted not knowing a word of Czech, but no matter where you were in the world, money talked. Sera slid the bundle of cash from her clutch across the bar, keeping her hand on it as she gave the vampire a hard stare. "Andrej."

The vampire nodded in understanding and took the lump of bills. He ducked below the counter for a minute and came up with a key simply marked '3', and pointed much deeper into the club, across the dance floor. He picked up a phone and waved her away, hopefully calling the owner of the club to meet with her. Sera slipped the silver dagger out of her clutch and held it against the side of her tiny bag, shielding it from view against her body but keeping it close in hand.

Sera edged around one of the fountains and slid into crowd. She breathed in the lust in the air as she made her way through the heavy press of bodies undulating to the throbbing beat, their heads swaying under the spell. She could feel the hair on her arms raising as her blood rushed and her body begged for her to stay, just for a little while, but she kept her eyes focused on where she could just make out some of the stone alcoves on the far wall.

A werewolf cut in front of her, scruffy blond hair dripping with sweat as he reached one hand around her to grab her hip and pull her closer. "What's the rush, beautiful?" he yelled over the music in a Russian accent, his breath sour as he shouted. He grinned and his other hand slid up her leg under her dress, freezing her in place.

A vampire pressed up against her from behind and brushed cold fingers down her back. "Yes, stay and play! You smell _delicious_ ," he said in her ear.

Sera flashed a dazzling smile at the werewolf and leaned forward, shifting uncomfortably. "You can keep mine or yours, but not both – your decision," she shouted back at him. She looked down, inviting his gaze to follow hers. Her silver dagger was laid along the inside of his thigh and she pressed the blade upward threateningly to make her point.

The werewolf dropped his hands and backed away hastily. Sera was pretty sure she now knew what the Russian word for 'bitch' was, and she breathed an inward sigh of relief as the vampire backed off with his friend. They never would have been so bold if her Marks had been visible.

She made it to the VIP alcoves without further incident, slipped her dagger back into her clutch, and then let it dangle from its tiny strap around her wrist. The key slid into the lock on the glass door marked with a red neon '3' across the front and she let herself in, the music fading as the door closed behind her. The same sort of half-circle stone bench and table filled this alcove, as it did the others, though at least there were cushions here. Black candles burned in skull wall sconces. A small pewter tray sat in the middle of the table and held only an empty metal shot glass.

Sera only heard one loud pulse from the music outside as the door flashed open and closed again quickly, and then a darkly beautiful vampire dressed in a perfectly-tailored suit stood in the alcove with her. He looked as though he had been Turned in his late 30s, thick black hair moussed back in a lazy wave. His olive-toned skin didn't quite look right, giving him away as a vampire even before Sera's eyes caught the hint of sharpened incisors when a slow smile spread across his lips. Hazel eyes took her in with appreciative interest. His presence filled the room with sexual energy and Sera had to keep a grip on herself as he pulled heavy red curtains across the glass and closed the distance between them.

"What is your name, lovely creature?" he murmured hypnotically, his accent a blend of many from the centuries he had spent in this part of Europe. Sera blessed her hidden Marks for protecting her from the worst of the _encanto._

"Sera," she breathed, pretending to be taken in.

"And what do you want from me for such a high price?" He reached out and skimmed one finger along her collarbone suggestively.

"Information about the Wild Hunt. I've seen Hunters here before; they are drawn to what your club creates."

He laughed, low in his throat. "And you are drawn to them? I'm sure I can satisfy whatever... Wild... craving you might have, Sera." Her mind struggled against her body as his aura continued to push against her defenses.

"I just need to know more about them, or Gwyn, or anything," she said breathlessly, head spinning. This was a lot harder than she had expected. She had underestimated his power.

His smile widened further and he leaned closer. "Then I have a name for you, and I'm sure it will be very valuable." He laid his roving finger across her lips as she started to ask for it. "But you don't buy information from a vampire with money." He traced the side of her mouth and down her jaw to let his hand rest against the pulse in her throat.

She stiffened. "I am not for sale."

He tilted his head to one side, a predatory look in his eyes. "Everyone's for sale, Sera. It's only a matter of negotiating the price. You want something, I want something. The only difference is that I think you want it more." He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small glass vial filled with a silvery fluid. He cocked an eyebrow at her suggestively. "You could even enjoy it."

He crossed to the table and poured the contents of the vial into the metal shot glass and then turned back to her, offering it lightly. "You can close your eyes and think of a Hunter if you wish, Sera."

Even as her body said yes, her mind screamed no. She had been _furious_ when Arynessa had sold Rayce to Remy without a second thought. And now she was being asked to do the same. ' _I'm sorry, Rayce, but it was the only way,'_ was what Arynessa had told her brother.

Sera closed her eyes to block out the confident smile on Andrej's face as he watched her struggle with the decision. _I'm sorry, Rayce, but it's the only way._ She gave a tiny nod and felt him press the shot into her hand. She kept her eyes closed and drank it without another moment of hesitation. It was sweet and sour at the same time, and sticky, though not at all unpleasant.

When she opened her eyes, the alcove was empty.

 _What?_ She whirled around to find the vampire, but he was gone. She tottered unsteadily with the sudden movement and put one hand to her head. She felt a rising elation in her breast, a lightness that freed her from the pressure of her search for answers. If her eyes hadn't been obscured by the black contacts, her pupils would have been dilating as she continued to turn slowly, taking in the small room with a new appreciation for every detail. She was starting to feel high, and the part of her that craved danger kind of liked it.

Trance music pumped in through the glass door as it opened again and Sera turned to see if it was Andrej. It wasn't.

Candlelight flickered and reflected off soft, white hair and Sera gasped in surprise before throwing herself forward. "Rayce!" She locked her arms around his neck and pulled his mouth down to meet hers. He tasted different; colder, but perhaps that was just the difference of the Hunt.

"Sera... I'm not who you want," he breathed, hands closing around her arms to hold her back.

Her emotions were completely tangled by whatever drug was in the silvery drink, and she half-sobbed as she kissed him again, hands pressing against his chest and slipping inside the jacket he wore. "How can you say that?" she whispered. "You're all I've ever wanted."

He ducked his head back hesitantly, then nuzzled around the side of her face, lips trailing down to where her pulse was eagerly throbbing. "Just close your eyes; it'll all be over soon."

She twined her fingers into his hair as she felt his tongue flick out against her neck, back arching, her hips pressing against him. "I don't want it to end," she moaned.

Rayce drew back and Sera barely registered the gleam of fangs where his lips were parted. All she could feel was the heat of the silvery shot pulsing through her veins and his sensual aura wrapped around her. She curled her calf up around his leg and looked up at him seductively from under her lashes, biting her lower lip with a coy smile.

His eyebrows drew together and he shook his head, trying to keep control of himself. "I don't think you understand how dangerous-" He was cut off as she crushed her body up against his and kissed him hard and fierce, savoring the taste of his lower lip as she teased at it.

"I do. It's what I _want_ ," she sighed with frustration.

Black and green eyes ablaze with desire, Rayce lost his patience and forced her up against the stone wall of the alcove, his hands closing around her wrists and prying her hands free from the back of his neck. He held her pinned, her clutch swinging on its thin cord, and he felt her strain against his hold, surprisingly strong.

Sera pulled forward, struggling to reach him. "Rayce..."

"No," he said as he leaned down. Sera only felt a brief flash of painful pleasure as his mouth found its mark and he bit down, then her world exploded.

Sera moaned, low and uncontrolled, hands clenching in his grasp as the drug in her system amplified every wave of bliss. _God,_ she thought, _why did I ever have a no-biting rule?_ She stretched her neck to one side, absolutely lost in the sensations that were taking control of her body.

Her blood pounded hot and lush in his mouth and his eyes widened in shock before he drew more deeply, eliciting an excited gasp from her. It was like drinking from a font of sweet fire, a honey blaze of addiction that ripped through him like no other had in centuries. Only his age and position in the Downworlder hierarchy allowed him to break away from that perfection when he had taken his price. A deal was a deal.

Sera's eyes slipped open as Rayce pulled back from her neck, his lips bloody and his mismatched eyes shining. Her eyebrows drew together in confusion. "Don't _stop..._ " she begged, doubly intoxicated from the drug and the effect of the feeding.

Rayce shook his head wordlessly and pulled her wrists up so he could trap both with one strong hand. He pulled a vial of what looked like ordinary water from inside his jacket and popped off the top, pouring it into his mouth before pulling her back in for one more deep kiss. A bitter taste assaulted her tongue and she swallowed reflexively. _What the hell, Rayce?_

It only took a few seconds for the antidote to kick in and she panted as she pulled away when released his grip. Andrej smiled back at her with wistful wonder stamped across his face.

"Bůh, Sera," he whispered, dazed. "What are you?"

Her head started to clear and she understood what had happened. She started shaking with anger at the hallucination, at the feelings it had unlocked inside her, but it was her own fault and at least the antidote had broken the spell. "Just give me the name, Andrej," she said, voice simmering dangerously.

He nodded. "Mark Blackthorn. The only Hunter to ever be released. One of you, if I recall correctly, or at least half. Your Clave might have tried to forget him, but some of us remember. If he doesn't have the answers you seek, I don't know who will. Somewhere near Los Angeles, I think."

The vampire stepped back in, his hands pressed against the wall on either side of her, caging her in as she looked down at her bag and avoided his eyes. His voice hardened. "Now answer my question. You may be trying to pass yourself off as Fey, but you don't taste like any Faerie I've ever had, or anything else for that matter. What are you?"

"I told you," Sera whispered, whipping the silver dagger up to plunge it right through his heart to protect her secret. "I am not for sale." His face contorted in disbelieving horror and he was only just starting to flake away into ash as Sera pressed her hand to the wall of the alcove and stepped back to Las Vegas.

 _**Author's note: Many thanks for Tara for providing the translation of "Gan xie shen me, hun dan!" ("Thanks for nothing, asshole!") and correcting inconsistencies in the Singapore section. I can't believe you get air-conditioned public transit. What a time to be alive._

 _Apologies for my longest delay in posting ever (6 days, oy vey!) - I still have 10 more days left before I get one off, and my Ride to Conquer Cancer is June 12/13, so I'll be out sweating for 220km next weekend. I should be back to my more tolerable posting habits of a chapter every 3-ish days or so after June 16th, but I will continue to limp along until then. Thanks for your patience!_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Author's note: I made some slight modifications to the end of EotC Chapter 2 the day after posting it, if you missed the update. I didn't quite hit my mark with Andrej, but it has been amended to my satisfaction. Everything remains untouched up until his entrance if you want to check the new version without re-reading the entire chapter. Again, my apologies. I've never had to change after posting, and I'll be aiming not to do it again! x.x_

 **3**

Alec blinked awake, his back twisted awkwardly on a couch with a little too much sag in the middle. Crackling flames burned in an iron wood stove to his right and the heat from it warmed the cramped space from 'freezing cold' to 'almost-tolerable'. A worn loveseat and a mismatched armchair were boxed in around him and he remembered how claustrophobic this room could feel. The feeling probably wasn't improved by having Jace leaning back against him from his place on the floor, his head throw back across Alec's stomach to snore in all of his open-mouthed glory.

The memory of flames racing through darkness brought him fully awake and he reached over to grip Jace's shoulder. His parabatai's eyes snapped open at once and his worried gaze fixed on Alec for a moment before a half-smile twinged his lips up. "You need to stop working out, Alec," he said, poking at his friend's midsection. "You're goddamned uncomfortable to sleep on."

Alec snorted. "Magnus never complains." He struggled against the sag in the couch to sit up, swinging his legs over the edge with unnecessary force to give Jace a good kick in the shoulder, but the effort was ruined when he hissed in pain as the burn on his shoulder pulled at the still-tender flesh where it was healing.

Jace fended him off and then held up his hands. "And that is officially all I want to hear about that."

Dark blue eyes searched the tiny living room for any sign of the warlock, or anyone, really. "Where is he?"

"He's bringing the others," Jace answered. "Simon and Izzy are still in Malta on assignment, but they need to be here for Hunter." He saw the next question in Alec's eyes before the other man could ask. "He's going to Beijing to find Rafe and Max, too, and get them here safely."

Alec exhaled with relief. The Clave had a rather terrible track history of carrying out sentences on family members of the condemned if the guilty party wasn't immediately at hand to bear the punishment themselves. Everett might just be twisted enough to try to use their children against him for the escape from Alicante.

"Thank the Angel. How _is_ Hunter? And where is everyone?"

Jace stood up and pushed his hands back through his blond hair. "He's okay, I guess. Still weak." His face tightened. "So's Aspen. She should be fine, but instead, she's just as exhausted as him. I don't know what happened between them, but I don't think it's right."

Alec had rarely seen his parabatai so serious. "We'll get through this, Jace, I promise."

Maybe it was the chill in the air that made him do it, but Jace shivered and nodded once before continuing. "Clary's gone out to the bunker with Aline and Helen. After you passed out and Magnus left, Helen started worrying about what that surge might have done to the wards."

Alec felt his heart sink. _That's all we need right now._

A flash of blue light flickered in the darkness through the small window by the door and then Alec and Jace could hear voices. The door creaked open and cold wind blasted through, chasing away the bit of warmth that had been building.

" _Oy vey iz mir!_ It's _freezing_ here!" Simon exclaimed as he stumped through the door with Izzy on his heels, her hands clutching a leather jacket around her shoulders. Her eyes found her brother's and she crossed the space between them in two strides of her long legs to kneel at the edge of the couch.

"Alec!" She threw her arms around him and he bit down on the inside of his cheek as his shoulder screamed again. "Where's Hunter?"

He squeezed her back carefully. "They're in Helen and Aline's bedroom. They're going to be okay, Iz." Her long dark hair swished past him as she pressed a swift kiss to his cheek and then she vanished through the door to the left of the couch, closing it behind her softly.

Simon sank into the armchair and crossed his arms over his chest, stuffing his hands into his armpits as his teeth chattered. "W-w-what's going on?"

Alec leaned back into the worn cushions and let Jace explain. His parabatai was filled with that restless energy that Alec knew so well; Jace wanted to be _doing_ something, and sitting around like this was making him anxious. He closed his eyes and let his mind drift as Jace shared everything that had happened since a Morgenstern son had set foot in Alicante once more.

Isabelle Lightwood didn't cry. She didn't break. But when Magnus had shown up at their hotel in Malta to tell her what had happened, she had come dangerously close to doing both of those things in the same night. To hear that her son had nearly died, that her city was burning... it was almost too much.

She felt her way forward in the darkness of the unfamiliar bedroom and her shin found the foot of the bed. The bedside light clicked on and she saw Aspen Herondale's worried face glow in the witchlight where she laid twisted on her side on top of the coverlet. Hunter was tucked in under the blankets beside her, still sleeping, his dark brown hair matted to his forehead. She felt her breath catch when she saw how pale he looked.

"Aspen..." Izzy trailed off as she saw the scared look on the girl's face. Without another word she swooped down and gathered her into her arms, holding her tightly. "It's okay," she whispered. "It's going to be okay."

The girl pulled away from the embrace, a single tear running down her cheek. Her gold eyes, so like Jace's, were serious in the pale light. "What if it's not, Iz?" She looked down at her best friend. "What if it's not going to be okay?"

"Oh, sweetheart, don't say that." She tried to renew the hug once more, for herself or for Aspen, she didn't know, but the girl shook her head.

"There's something _wrong_ with this," she said, leaning back so that the light could catch the black Mark just below her collarbone. Izzy's eyes widened. _Parabatai_. She'd known that the pair had been close to being ready to go the the Silent City to complete the ritual, but this...

"Wrong how?"

Aspen shrugged weakly. "I don't know. I thought that being parabatai made you _stronger_." She looked down at her hands where they were laced in her lap. "But all I feel is weakness. Hunter's still weak, too. He can't stay awake for very long."

Izzy reached out to brush her son's hair back from his forehead, feeling the thin sheen of sweat on his face as she did so. He didn't stir, unaware that his mother was close. Her mind raced as panic fought to overcome reason, and her heart constricted in her chest. She couldn't lose him.

"We're going to figure it out, Aspen." She pulled the girl back into her arms without resistance, breathing in the smell of char from the blond hair as she stroked her fingers through it soothingly. "Together."

Izzy slipped out of the bedroom and closed the door again. She sank into the couch next to her brother where he was drowsing in and out during Jace's tale. She caught enough to piece together what she had missed. Another Morgenstern. By the Angel. But not like his father, if Jace could be believed.

The front door opened anew and wind sliced through the room once more. Alec roused again and Izzy pulled at her jacket. This was absolutely ridiculous.

Three bundles of fur trooped through the door into the cramped room, kicking off heavy boots to slide feet into fat slippers. Clary, Aline, and Helen stripped away their gloves, unwound scarves from around their faces, and then pulled off the coats to hang on pegs nailed into the wall.

It only took Aline a moment to see the miserable state her guests were in, and then she was pulling open a closet to pull down blankets for them, handing them out grimly as she apologized for leaving them like this.

Helen filled a kettle and set it on the stove, pushing in another log to coax the fire into a more robust blaze. Once the flames had started to lick hungrily up the sides of the new offering, she closed the grate and turned back to face her guests. Blue-green eyes looked out from a delicate face that had only been gently brushed by the passing of time. Ringlets of white-gold hair were tucked back behind her slightly-pointed ears, and her eyes turned down out of respect for the Consul.

Alec sat up straighter. "Anything?" he asked gently.

"The surge... or whatever it was... must have been massive," she began. Seeing the alarm on Alec's face, she waved him down hurriedly. "The wards are still there, at least from what we can tell."

Aline slid her arm around her wife and gave her a Look. "You're going to give him a heart attack." She turned her dark eyes back to Alec. "If the surge did anything, it's probably only causing some temporary 'short circuits'. Some of the lines look a bit frazzled, like when some demons get through."

"Frazzled?" Simon broke in. "Is that a technical term? Because it's not very reassuring." He hunched down deeper into his blanket. "In fact, I'm going to go so far as to say that it's downright _disturbing_."

Aline tossed back her dark hair. "Frazzling is normal." She looked back at the Consul and jerked her thumb at Simon. "Tell him it's normal."

Alec nodded in agreement, and Simon's mouth fell open in shock. "How can you be _okay_ with frazzle-y wards? Like, as in the ones that keep the monsters out?"

"They only _mostly_ keep them out," Helen corrected helpfully.

"Oh, _well!_ That's fine, then." Simon threw his hands up in exasperation before he realized that would let out a lot of the warmth from his blanket, and he yanked them back in. " _Why_ am I the only one freaking out about this?"

"Because you spent more time _writing_ in the Codex than _reading_ it," Jace said scathingly. "Even an Ascendant should know that demons get through the wards."

"Yeah," Simon said defensively. "Through nice, un-frazzled wards. Forgive me if I get worried about what happens if they aren't in the best shape – I remember what happened when Sebastian smashed them in the Dark War." He tapped a finger to his temple while keeping the rest of his hand inside the blanket. "I didn't have to read that."

Clary sighed and dropped into the loveseat, fiddling with a tattered throw pillow. "You have to get over the frazzle thing, Simon. Helen and Aline have gotten pretty good at reading the runes and energy up here. They send fire messages to Alicante when they see anything worth mentioning, and then Alec can alert the Institutes in the area to send extra patrols or beef up existing ones."

"Some of the wards look... shocked," Helen added. "But the earth's magic can heal and renew them, in time."

"How _much_ time?" Simon still looked worried, and he wasn't encouraged when Helen shook her head.

"It's difficult to say. But we will need to be extra vigilant in the coming days."

Alec bridged his fingers together and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "This is the worst possible time for Alicante to be without a Consul."

"They've got Everett, don't they?" Jace said bitterly.

Alec fixed him with a hard stare. "It's not a joke, Jace. This isn't just about Alicante now, it's about the whole world. If we can't hold together, we could lose everything." He looked back to Helen and Aline. "Can you tell where the... frazzle... happened?"

Aline nodded. "One was near Buenos Aires, and a second one looked like it was close to Cairo. We can look for more damage when it's light out again, but we just wanted to get an idea of what we might be dealing with, just in case."

"Good idea," Alec agreed.

"Okay, wait a minute," Simon broke in again, his hands held up inside the blanket and gesturing ineffectively. "If the wards can heal themselves right back up, why do demons get through at all? Why hasn't the damage from the Incursion been fixed yet?" He stuck his tongue out at Jace. "I _did_ read it."

Clary threw a pillow at him. "That's what we've been working on for the last three years. Whatever Lilith and Sammael did, they made damn sure that the wards couldn't recover from it."

The kettle started to whistle and Helen went to retrieve it to start a pot of tea brewing in the miniscule kitchen nook while Clary continued. "We know that demon blood is needed to take down the wards."

Simon snorted. "Yeah, we definitely know that."

"Are you going to let me finish?" Clary stood with her hands on her hips and Simon recognized the deadly posture.

"Sorry. I'll shut up."

"Praise Raziel," Jace muttered.

Clary held up a finger to silence each of them and briefly considered changing which finger she was using. "What we've been speculating is that they sort of... locked... the damage they did to the wards. If you could just take the lock off, then the wards could be renewed by the earth the way that they're supposed to be. But instead, you need a key to turn in the lock. As long as it stays jammed, the damage doesn't get fixed."

Simon looked like he was dying to ask what the key was, but he was struggling with his promise to shut up. Izzy cut in for him instead, arms crossed over her jacket. "What kind of key?"

Clary shrugged helplessly. "Honestly, we're just guessing our brains out here. But if you think about it logically, they mixed their blood to do what they did. So maybe that's what you need to change it."

"The only problem is," Aline said as she passed around mugs of tea, "Sammael hasn't been seen on the Mortal plane for a thousand years, give or take a century, and Lilith..." she trailed off.

"... was turned into a pile of kosher salt by yours truly." Simon said with a grin.

"You are never going to stop going on about that, are you?" Jace sighed.

"And how many Greater Demons have _you_ dispatched, blondie?" Simon shot back.

"This week?" Jace asked innocently.

"Could. You. Two. Just. Not." Clary seethed through her teeth.

Another flash of blue light shone through the window by the front door and cut off any further argument. The door opened again to blast away the heat and admit three more people into the now alarmingly-crowded cabin.

Magnus shook out his long, grey hair and winked at his husband as he peeled off an outrageous fur coat and looked around the tiny room. "Wow. Sardines have it easy." He scratched at the bushy white moustache on his upper lip.

Max and Rafe Lightwood-Bane were a little too old to throw themselves at Alec, but he rose from the couch and pulled them each into a three-way hug, ignoring the pain in his shoulder.

"I love hugs!" Magnus piled on behind his sons as the rest of the Shadowhunters in the room looked on awkwardly.

Alec broke away and looked at his husband with one eyebrow arched for the unusual appearance. Magnus smiled widely. "I'm in _disguise_ , sweet pea. Too many people would recognize my fabulous face in Alicante."

The Shadowhunter shook his head, unable to hide the smile that came from the relief of knowing that his family was safe and together. He reached up and took hold of one side of the moustache to rip it off. Magnus yelped and clapped a hand up over the sting of the glue being pulled away. "If that had been real, we would be having a _very_ serious conversation right now!"

"If that had been real, we would be getting a _very_ serious divorce right now," Alec answered.

Jace stepped between the couple. "Okay. That's enough. We actually _were_ having a serious conversation. What's going on in Alicante, Magnus?"

The warlock's face sobered immediately. "The Gard stands, Everett's nowhere to be found. Inquisitor Everdale is dead. I put in some mostly-anonymous calls to whoever I could reach, so there's at least a handful of warlocks working to contain the fires as much as they can." His cat eyes were sad. "The Nephilim are in crisis-mode, just trying to save one life at a time. There's no organization at all." He took his husband's hand. "I'm sorry."

Alec closed his eyes. His city was burning. He should be there helping. Instead, he was sitting on the edge of the world freezing. He felt his resolve tighten. "Don't be sorry. Be ready to fight." Magnus looked at him in confusion, but Alec pressed on. "If Alicante can't do what needs to be done, then it'll have to be us. The Institutes have enough autonomy that they can hold their pockets of the world, but it won't be enough, not if demons start pressing up against the wards to take advantage of us in our time of crisis."

Magnus squeezed his hand gently. "You aren't Consul anymore, Alec. Everett saw to that."

Alec shook his head and pulled his hand away. "It's not a seal or a desk that made me Consul." He touched his chest. "It's what's in here. Let him sit in my wooden cage for me, I'm done pushing paper."

Jace's eyes blazed as he looked at his parabatai, and a slow smile curved up his lips as he listened to his oldest friend.

"I'm going to do everything in my power to hold our shattered Clave together, whether they want it or not. And if that means running and fighting in the shadows to stay free of Everett, then so be it. I won't let him destroy us while he sits paralysed in Alicante, if he's still alive. What's done is done. A city is just a city, even the Glass City." His eyes burned with intensity. "It's the people that we have to save."

The energy in the room was shifting, building. Alec's voice drew them in, and they all found themselves nodding subconsciously in response to his need.

"Clary, Helen, Aline," his eyes captured them. "I need you here. You know the wards the best. Whatever you find, send it on to Alicante, but send duplicates to me. If Everett doesn't act, I want to make sure I'm already standing where I need to be to blunt the force of any demon attacks. If he sends reinforcements like he's supposed to, so much the better, and I'll stay a step ahead of him. Hunter and Aspen will be safe here with you." The three women nodded silently, spellbound by the Consul in his prime.

"Iz, Simon, I want you with Rafe and Max. Use the contacts and network of the Recruiters to get to as many of the Ascendents and Institute Heads as you can. Make them understand that Alicante is just stone. We have to protect the Mundanes and Downworlders who depend on us. Max can get you around. No runic Portals. Keep moving." His gaze shifted to his sons where they stood waiting for instructions. "You two, help them where you can, but I want your main focus to be on the Downworlders as you go. The Nephilim will need their allies more than ever now. Send anyone you can find to help the wounded in the city, and get the fighters of the clans and packs on the alert for increased demonic activity. They have to grasp how dangerous this could be for _all_ of us, not just the Shadowhunters."

Max acknowledged his orders by ducking his head for a moment as his blue eyes looked down at the floor. He had become so accustomed to seeing his father as Consul, as a politician, that he was a little awed to see the warrior spirit flickering to life inside him. It was waking up a part of Alec that had laid dormant for years. Max felt a flush of pride that he was being given a part to play in this; he'd been on the sidelines for too long. "Where will you be, father?" he asked fiercely, blue eyes shining with excitement.

Alec clenched one fist and exhaled. "Buenos Aires. The first strike looks like it will land there."

Rafe's gaze lifted. He had been quiet, standing back near the wall to listen and observe. But mention of his birth city made him stir, and haunting memories of his earliest years in those streets surfaced. " _Ten cuidado con fuego,_ _padre,_ " he cautioned quietly in fluid Spanish. "If Everett's poison has spread beyond Alicante, not all may be pleased to see you."

Alec's face softened for a moment from the concern in his elder son's voice, and he took Magnus' hand in his own. "We'll keep each other safe, Rafe."

"And what about me?" Jace asked. His mind was on his parabatai, but his heart was with his wife. Alec's eyes flicked over to where Clary had gone to stand with Aline and Helen. He bowed his head for a moment.

"I need you with me," he said quietly.

Izzy very tactfully began shuffling Simon out of the armchair and shooing Rafe and Max to get them moving and break up the silence.

Clary moved to her husband's side. "Go with him, Jace," she urged.

"But you and Aspen..." he started to protest.

"...will be absolutely fine without you." Her green eyes looked up at him with a fire burning behind them, the same kind of fire that had stolen everything but their family away from them. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I think this is what we were _born_ to do Jace. Alec needs you. If he's right, and I think he is, he's going to need the most brilliant strategist ever to take eight involuntary sabbaticals from the Scholomance." Jace smiled, but she pressed a finger to his lips. "And if you think for one second that you could possibly be more useful than me trying to work with the runes and wards here, I will personally sew you into a sack of live ducks. Naked. Covered in bread crumbs." He laughed around her finger and pulled her into a deep kiss.

"Well, when you put it that way..." He leaned forward to touch his forehead to hers as the others bustled around and mugs piled up on the counter.

Clary's face grew serious. "You have to go do what you're good at, Jace. And you have to let me do what I'm good at. Our whole lives had been leading up to this."

He kissed her again and then they broke apart to say goodbye as those who were leaving made ready to depart. Jace ducked into the bedroom to see his daughter one more time before heading out, and he looked down at Hunter's sleeping face wistfully. He hoped they would be alright.

Shadowhunters didn't like goodbyes. You always had to tell yourself that everyone would come back. Alec watched with a mixture of pride and guilt as the others got ready to leave, to follow his orders for better or for worse.

His husband, his sons, his parabatai, his sister, his sister-in-law, even his nerdy brother-in-law... he had so much to lose if he was wrong. But he could feel it in his blood. He wasn't wrong. What worried him now was just how right he might turn out to be.

The late afternoon sun was setting over Alicante as Everett Whitelock climbed the steps of the Gard, as if it could no longer bear to illuminate the scarred ruins of the Glass City. His grey eyes took in the smoking heap that was all that remained of the Consul's home across the square and his lips tightened. No bodies had been found there. It came as no surprise that Lightwood had fled; many had. It only mattered when and where he would surface, and what he would do.

The hallways of the Gard were oddly silent, the heavy walls shutting away the city outside, its Shadowhunters desperately engaged in digging through the ashes for loved ones. His home in the city had been spared from the treacherous Unseelie because he had been wise enough never to trust them as so many others had. And look what that trust had bought.

The blame for today could be laid squarely at Alec Lightwood's feet, that Faerie-loving embarrassment of a Shadowhunter so insistent that the Fey be forgiven for their actions. There could be no forgiveness now. When the night sky had exploded into flame, Everett had watched in a sort of numb shock. The city had finally been within his grasp and then it had gone up in smoke.

Some had come looking to him for guidance, their fists pounding on a door untouched by fire, but he had not answered. He had looked over the city from the shadows of his balcony, listened to the screams and the cries below in a detached haze. It was impossible. What could any one man do in the face of a disaster like this?

His fingers tightened on the girl's dream diary in his hands as he slipped up to the third floor and down the familiar hall of expensive wood panelling to the Consul's office – no, _his_ office. _Sera_. Her name was like a curse in his mind. She had seen this and had said nothing. She and that Morgenstern boy had stirred up the Fey like a hornet's nest. She was as much to blame as Lightwood.

The door opened easily and he crossed the room to the desk, tossing the book down on top of a folded sheet of paper laying there. He sat down heavily and flipped open the pages of the notebook to stare at the hurried scrawl within, his eyes drifting over the words without seeing them. His fingers traced the letters absently.

He wondered what it would be like to see the future, to know your enemy's moves before they made them. To find solutions to impossible situations. He'd read enough about her efforts to save the Morgenstern boy to know that there were dozens of different ways she could have failed. That she _had_ failed, if only in her dreams. A hundred nights of dress-rehearsal for a single performance when the time had come. But she had done it.

He breathed in the scent of the pages, imagined her hand gliding across them as she poured Heaven's gift into the book. _Selfish_. That's what she was. His mouth twisted as he considered her choices. She had been given a weapon unlike any other Shadowhunter before her, and what had she chosen to do with it? She'd saved herself a pretty boy and amassed a fortune. Where was the honour in that? What _right_ did she have to keep this ability to herself?

Everett's eyes remained unfocused as he continued to obsessively run his fingers across her writing, fantasizing about the power he would have with her gift harnessed for his use. If she could find a way to snatch that boy from the Courts, she could be made to find a way to save this city. The idea began to take a hold of him as he envisioned her kneeling at his feet, obediently whispering the secrets of the future. He would never be caught unaware by his enemies. It was intoxicating. The power.

His hand slipped down and caught the edge of the page under the notebook and his fantasy faded away when he unfolded the fire message.

 _Consul,_

 _Possible damage to the world's wards, Buenos Aires and Cairo may be threatened. Please send help and warn them to beware of an increased demon presence in the area._

 _Helen Blackthorn_

He crumpled the page in his fist. _That Faerie bitch_ , he thought viciously. Already trying to manipulate him into dividing what few Shadowhunters remained in Alicante. Probably trying to drain away as many of the fighters as possible so the Fey could come and finish the job.

Everett spun around and rose from the chair to look out over ruined Alicante again. Why would he spend one more Nephilim life to save the Mundanes? Why should only _his_ city burn so that theirs could stand? Shadowhunters had fought in secret for centuries without acknowledgement or thanks, their dead mourned only by their own, their sacrifices unrecognized by the sheep they defended.

He whirled away from the window, heart pounding with the rage and disgust he was feeling. The missive was hurled into the basket under the desk without another thought. The Mundanes were just going to have to fend for themselves until he could find a solution. Nephilim warriors had held the front lines for a thousand years; now they needed to take care of themselves.

The door to the office opened hesitantly and a face poked around the edge. Everett knew the face but couldn't place the name of the Shadowhunter who practically fell inside with relief when he saw the Consul.

"Thank the Angel! I thought I saw someone come into the Gard, and I had to see if it was you." His sun-browned face was streaked with ash, and rags were wrapped around his filthy hands where he had likely been pulling aside the hot wreckage of homes all day. He looked at Everett anxiously. "What do we do now, Consul?"

Everett hesitated. This wasn't how he had pictured his first day on the job. It was a goddamn mess. He felt the same sense of despair that he had earlier when he had let himself dwell on what one man could possibly do to fix this. He decided to stall. "What's being done now?"

"We're still searching the buildings for survivors and salvaging what we can. Some warlocks arrived in the night to help, but they're slowed down by having to Portal outside the city and come in over land. One of them, Seraphine Lark, has been asking for permission to use the Gard Portal to help expedite the evacuation of the wounded." The Shadowhunter broke off when he saw the Consul's eyes flash.

"Seraphine Lark?" he repeated. What a stroke of good fortune. His eyes didn't even need to look down at the dream diary on his desk.

"Yes, sir."

"I'll speak with her myself. Keep the others searching. Send her to me."

The Shadowhunter nodded gratefully, relieved that the Consul was going to take charge of the situation, and he backed out of the office to carry out his orders.

Everett watched him go and then turned back to stare out the window. _Seraphine Lark. The witch's closest friend._ His efforts to track the girl using her notebook had come up against some sort of block, and now he had an excellent idea of who had arranged for that.

"Where the bloody hell have you _been?_ " Seraphine hurled at Everett as she stormed through his office door in a fury. Her tiny frame was practically shaking with anger as she took in his clean face and hands, his unstained clothes. She looked like an absolute disaster, a demon dragged through hellish ash pits. Half-healed burns dotted her arms where wreckage had shifted and fallen in on her, and the end of her tail was hastily bandaged where it had trailed down into some smoking embers when she had stopped to rest for a moment.

She stalked right up to him, head tilting back to glare furiously as she jabbed a finger at his chest. " _You_ wanted the job, but you need to actually _do_ it!"

His hand whipped up and closed over hers in a crushing grip, her finger bending back painfully far. "You'll use a civil tongue with me, warlock, or you'll find that you no longer have one," he warned.

Seraphine simmered and considered blasting him right through the window, but something in his eyes made her stop. She didn't like what she saw there. She felt a spike of fear and backed down, shoulders falling from where they had been tensed for a confrontation. Whatever else he might be, he was still one of the Nephilim, and she doubted that he had called her to meet with him without taking precautions.

"Then help your people, Whitelock," she said in a more even tone. "Open the Gard Portal. We're completely exhausted trying to ferry so many out of the city and send them through to Institutes for care. Not to mention all the healing and sifting through the debris. We can't keep on like this."

Everett sneered. "I thought you Downworlders wanted to be equals. You'll have to do your part, just like everyone else."

"And what part are _you_ doing?" She couldn't help it. Seraphine was generally a very sweet person, but this cat had claws when it was angry.

"What I can," he answered cryptically. "I'll give you access to the Gard Portal if you tell me how to find your little friend."

She caught sight of a familiar notebook laying open on the Consul's desk behind Everett. _Sera._ She had seen Rayce's bangle on her friend's arm, a little bent to make it fit, but she hadn't given it another thought. Now she understood.

"You won't find her," Seraphine said, shaking her head. "I enchanted an armband to block tracking. As long as she's wearing it, you'll never get your hands on her. Even _I_ couldn't find her now." She felt a fierce flash of pride.

"Is that so?" Everett whispered, taking a step to close the distance between them. His grey eyes were bright as he looked down at her with a controlled half-smile, and Seraphine felt herself shaking not with anger, but with fear.

The false Consul reached up almost tenderly and brushed a few of her short black curls back, dislodging a shower of ash as he did so. It was like having a viper's tongue flick at her face and she held still as he leaned in, bracing herself. "If I find that you've lied to me..." His fingers tightened in her hair brutally and she gasped in pain. He bared his teeth at her savagely. "Understand?"

She nodded faintly, hating herself, and then he released his grip.

"Get out," he said darkly.

Seraphine drew in a shuddering breath and retreated through the doorway, never taking her eyes off the madman in front of the Consul's desk.

It was good that she couldn't see the gleam in his eye as he looked down at the black hair in his now ash-streaked hand.


	4. Chapter 4

**4**

Rayce left the cavern behind with one bloodied fist clenched tightly around the dying torch, its flickering light casting weak shadows along the tunnel as he moved toward the main chamber where his Hunters would be waiting for him. He would send one of them to retrieve Kieran later; he couldn't even bring himself to touch the duplicitous Faerie now.

With Gwyn's memories alongside his own, he could see now the similarities between himself and another half-Shadowhunter who had been part of the Hunt. He could see through Gwyn's eyes and understand the love that Kieran had held for Mark Blackthorn. And he could see that the Faerie had been devastated when the Shadowhunter had chosen to return to his family instead of remaining with the Hunt. _Instead of remaining with the Hunt...?_ Rayce jarred to a halt, sifting through the morass of Gwyn's memories from over twenty years ago with a spark of hope in his chest.

When he found what he was searching for, his mouth tightened and he shook his head. _Faeries._ He crushed the spark ruthlessly and buried it.

The main cavern opened up in front of him and he stalked through the doorway, dark thoughts swirling in his mind. He dropped the torch as he stepped into the light that filtered through the hollow peak above. Rayce kept his anger under control, schooling his face into a mask of hard-eyed command as he squared his shoulders and drew up to his full height. Weakness wasn't an option, not in this pack of jackals. He brushed the back of his hand across his upper lip unconsciously, heedless of the smear of red it left. Blood still ran down his fingers from his torn knuckles, and it left a faint trail behind him as he approached the crowd around the pool.

Hunters turned as he advanced, their wild eyes taking in his blood-stained face, his red-streaked hands, the blade of the Hunt and his own staff strapped across his back, and most of all, the cloak across his shoulders. He hadn't fought with them in the Seelie Court, but now that they could see him like this, like an animal, he detected hints of approval in some of those split-coloured eyes. Not all, but some. Their admiration made part of him feel sick, and yet oddly, a part of him was secretly pleased to be weighed and found equal to the fiercest Fey alive. If they had thought him a soft Shadowhunter, an easy target, he would prove them wrong.

The crowd parted slowly, each Hunter taking his measure as he passed, and Rayce let them. _Let them get a good look_ , he thought as they stepped aside. Ahead, Rayce could hear quiet weeping, but he kept his face still, as his brother had taught him.

Rayce cleared the last of the Hunters circled around the spring-fed pool and found Bael collapsed in a heap at the edge, his shoulders shaking as he added his tears to the water. _His shoulders..._ Black-feathered wings lay next to the fallen prince, bloodied and still, and Rayce felt his lips part as shock made the smallest dent in his facade. The stumps where Bael's wings had been cut away had been cruelly cauterized, and the blackened flesh made his stomach twist.

Rayce cast a deadly look back over one shoulder and asked in a cold voice, "Who did this?"

One of the smaller Hunters bowed deeply and spread his arms, the healed stumps of where he had lost his own wings flexing under his pale skin. _Kratus_ , Gwyn's memories whispered. "Traitors don't get no wings, milord." He looked up from under his dirty black hair and his mouth split open in a grin that revealed teeth that had been filed to points. "Everyone knows that!" Kratus threw back his head and howled with laughter, the others joining in, howling and hooting as the broken prince wept.

 _How did Gwyn ever control this?_ Rayce turned his back on them and knelt down next to his brother. He shifted one of the stones at the edge of the pool to reveal a hollow space where an ancient cup rested, waiting for use. He dipped it into the pool and then set it down to draw Gwyn's blade. _My blade._ Rayce made a shallow cut across his palm and dripped blood into the cup. He probably could have skipped this step and used the blood from his knuckles, but he felt like he at least owed Bael this much. He should do it properly.

Bael had heard the rasp of the blade as Rayce re-sheathed it and he lifted his head. Tear tracks trailed down his blue face, and his black eyes were filled with pain. He saw the cup and shook his head, chin quivering.

"Don't do this," he pleaded. "I don't want to be like you, brother." _I don't want to be like you, brother._ The memory of Matias echoed in Rayce's mind and he closed his eyes. He could only do as Gwyn had once done and shake his head sadly.

"It's too late for that." His hand shot out and twisted into his brother's straight black hair, pulling his head back to tilt the blood-streaked water into his mouth.

Bael choked, but Rayce clamped his left hand down over the Faerie's mouth and braced himself against his brother's body, holding him in an iron grasp while he waited. Bael struggled to break free, but Rayce was stronger than him, his biceps flexed, his muscles hard and unyielding. Their eyes locked, Bael's filled with desperation and fear, Rayce's with sad resignation.

As Rayce watched, an iris of amber bloomed to life in Bael's right eye, but both eyes widened in horror as Bael's vision doubled to see his first glimpse of the eternal night sky that lay Beyond. His lips moved soundlessly as he heard the whisper of the next world call seductively to him, and he shook in Rayce's arms.

The Lord of the Hunt released his newest Hunter and rose to stand over him. The faces in the crowd around him were filled with wicked glee as they claimed another for their ranks. Rayce turned to face them and called over their jeers, "Mount up. We ride for the Eternal Forest."

Sledges still bearing the Seelie and Unseelie dead from the battle to retake the throne were hitched to the spectral mounts that materialized around the cavern with his order. He summoned his own dark mount with a thought and climbed up into the saddle, reaching down to his belt to pull his stele free. He traced a quick _iratze_ on the back of each of his hands and watched as the wounds healed, including the one from Gwyn's sword. _My sword._ His eyes flicked up challengingly to stare down Kratus where he was watching from the back of his mottled-brown mount. The Fey shook his head in disgust and turned away.

Rayce drew up alongside another of the Hunters who did not bear a sledge. His white-blond hair was cut short for simplicity and he looked up when his commander stopped beside him.

"Caelus," Rayce addressed the other quietly, drawing on Gwyn's memories to learn these strange faces. "One of your brothers lies in a cavern back the way I came. Catch up to us once you've tended to him." The slim Faerie's eyebrows drew together in confusion, but Rayce did not explain further. Caelus dipped his head in acknowledgement and broke away from the rest of the Hunt as they prepared to dive into the realm of deep Faerie.

The others looked at him expectantly and he wheeled his mount around to charge down through a tunnel that bored deeper into the mountain. His horse's fiery hooves clattered on the stone, blazing the way forward into the darkness. Rayce could see nothing of the passage, but he didn't need to.

They rode through the inky darkness, flashes of the tunnel floor visible in the flames below him, but Rayce kept his eyes up as he rocked in time with the steed's movement. His heart pounded in his chest with the exhilaration of leading the pack and a small smile had crept across his face before he howled at himself, _You're not supposed to enjoy this!_

He pushed the thought away, once again hearing Kieran's poisonous voice. _You may as well take pleasure in your exile._ Not Kieran's idea of pleasure, to be certain. But perhaps this. He had lived his life shut away from the Courts, but now the skies were his. Every corner of the world was his to explore. He remembered being distracted by birds soaring through the air as he had read on Seraphine's balcony, envying them their freedom. Gwyn's memories showed him that there were a thousand sights to see; even his predecessor had found peace under the night sky in the secret places of the world.

Light shone ahead and he braced himself for the abrupt change from darkness that was coming.

The Hunt barrelled out of the tunnel at a full gallop, shooting out into a red-tinged sky like ill-fated stars. There was no sun or moon here, only a light that came from everywhere at once. Rolling plains of red and purple grass stretched out endlessly below them, stalks waving gently in a wind that couldn't exist. A brackish river wound through the grasses, and the Hunt rode lower, hooves skimming over the dark, slick surface to stir strange fish from their rest. The air smelled sickly-sweet, like fruit that had only just begun to rot.

The clouds above them glowed red, orange, and yellow in the bizarre sky, billowing over the dreary landscape below. Rayce caught a glimpse of the grasses parting for a dark shape that stalked through them, watching the Hunt pass warily, but nothing would dare to challenge them.

A headache began to throb in Rayce's temples and he felt the unsettling sensation of the unreality of deep Faerie stretching his mind. The Courts were still close enough to the Mortal world that he had barely felt the seams between the two while growing up, his dual-heritage strong enough to overcome the discomfort, but this was much worse. He was now far from home, where no Shadowhunter was welcome, and even the Faeries of the Courts dared not tread here for long for fear of going mad. The Hunt gave his Faerie half some protection from this, but its magic had never been intended to safeguard one of the Nephilim.

Gwyn's memories showed Rayce a half-Shadowhunter boy who's mind had slowly been eroded by trips to this place over the years. He also saw that it had been Kieran who had kept Mark from slipping away entirely. But Rayce had slammed that door closed. He would need to find some other way to hold on to himself.

Miles flew by below them as the Hunt bore the dead toward the edges of deep Faerie where the Eternal Forest waited. Rayce could see the ancient trees in his mind, trunks twisted and branches heavy with green and gold and rust-coloured leaves. He could picture the blue-white rivers of ley line magic that knifed through the tangle, banks nearly overflowing with the earth's power.

He was lost in Gwyn's memories of the Forest when a whip lashed out of nowhere to coil around his neck tightly. His eyes flew open wide as he was yanked backwards out of his saddle viciously and into the red sky, falling.

His instincts took over in half a heartbeat, and he _shifted_ up to land heavily in front his attacker before he reached the end of the length of whip, where he might have broken his neck from the jolt. He found himself staring into Kratus' hate-filled eyes, the Hunter's mouth pulled up into a hideous grin with his pointed teeth bared.

Struggling to breathe, Rayce saw Kratus drop the handle of the whip to snatch a long knife from his belt. Rayce's hands flashed out to turn his attacker's thrust at the last moment, saving himself from a deadly gut wound, but the edge sliced along his waist and severed his belt. It tumbled away into the open air below them but Rayce couldn't spare a thought for it.

An arrow whistled past his ear from one of the Hunters behind them and his mind reeled as he grappled with Kratus. He was stronger than the Faerie, but he had black spots creeping across his vision as he fought to breathe. The whip cord had pulled cruelly at his throat when he had been pulled backwards, and he couldn't take the time to untangle it while Kratus tried to gut him.

He tried to force Kratus backwards, to maybe see how the Hunter dealt with being shoved out of _his_ saddle, but Rayce's head was pounding and he could feel the other man pushing forward again, the blade between them glimmering dangerously.

Rayce felt like he could hear Gwyn screaming something at him, and he latched on to it. With the last bit of air still trapped in his lungs, he locked eyes with Kratus and rasped out a single word, "Stop."

Kratus snarled, but the pressure against Rayce vanished. He dropped his grip on the other man and quickly uncoiled the whip, taking in a few deep, appreciative breaths. He rolled off the side of the brown steed and dropped back onto his own as he summoned it once more. He angled downward toward a barren stretch of trees, wanting to be on solid ground in case anyone else decided to test their luck.

Gnarled limbs clawed at the red sky, and the bark of the trunk was twisted in places to almost look as though faces were screaming in the wood. Exposed roots wormed into the earth, trying to burrow back under the carpet of withered leaves and dying red-purple grass. None of this matched Gwyn's memories, but it was unmistakeably the Eternal Forest. It looked so... drained.

The other Hunters landed around him, staring in disbelief at the stricken Forest, Kratus' attack temporarily forgotten. Rayce saw Bael slide down from a pale grey horse and stare at the Forest openly. Only thin ribbons of ley line magic trickled through the broad riverbeds where once it had strained at the banks. _What happened?_

Rayce gave Kratus a long, hard look before signalling the Hunters to get on with it. They obeyed him silently and moved deeper into the Forest bearing their macabre loads while Rayce sank down onto a rocky outcropping near one of the twisted trees. His head was still pounding, and his throat hurt. He reached down to find his stele and then remembered with a jolt that his belt had fallen somewhere over the endless grassy plains. Another piece of him, lost.

He buried his face in his hands, rubbing his palms into his eyes and trying to shut out the throbbing ache. This place wasn't good for him.

"I tried to tell you that the Fey hate you, you know," a teasing voice said in his ear.

Rayce jerked his head up in surprise and was shocked to see his father laying stretched out carelessly in the strange grass, propped up on one elbow. His scarlet gear made him seem a part of this red-washed world.

Sebastian's mouth quirked up at his son's reaction before he continued, "If you think they'll accept a Shadowhunter as Lord of the Hunt, you're wrong."

Rayce shook his head and closed his eyes. "You're not real."

"Keep telling yourself that." Sebastian sat up, studying his son. "You're so caught up trying to figure out if I'm real that you're not listening to me."

"I already have one dead man whispering in my head – I really don't have room for another." Rayce opened his eyes and was dismayed to still see his father sitting there. He couldn't blame Lake Lyn this time. Was he going mad? Was he talking to himself?

"Well, at least I give you someone to talk to," Sebastian offered.

"I don't want to talk to you," Rayce answered sullenly.

Sebastian ignored him. "And since we're talking, I must say that I like the new you. _Very_ impressive. Except when you're sulking. I hate sulking."

Sebastian waited for a response but didn't receive one, so he rose smoothly and joined Rayce on the rock, slipping one arm around his shoulders. "Put your faith in your Morgenstern blood, son," he whispered. "You need to make them _fear_ you. You need to make an example."

At the mention of faith, Rayce felt a stirring in his chest. He had to remember... something. But Gwyn's memories outweighed his own in this strange place, and he felt overwhelmed as he tried to snatch himself back from the brink. He took strength from his father sitting next to him. _His_ father. Not Gwyn's. He backpedalled, trying to remember what had just been said.

"I wasn't raised a Morgenstern," he protested.

Sebastian laughed out loud, his handsome face breaking out into the same breathtaking smile he had passed down to his son. "Weren't you?" he asked, laughter sparkling in his black eyes. "Ezekiel Hightower was a Circle member right along with dear old dad, or did you not know? Bael's a cunning, manipulative traitor who's impressively good at lying considering his limitations. And your sister..." Sebastian looked down and bit his lip to hold back another laugh. "Why don't you ask her about Arthur Blackthorn the next time you see her? Let's see what kind of truth she can spin for you then, since you think she's so pure of heart."

"Stop! Just _stop!"_ Rayce shouted hoarsely as he stood up and whirled back to face... an empty rock.

"My Lord?" Caelus ventured hesitantly.

Rayce turned on him, chest heaving, throat burning from the whip, and the Faerie took a step back from the look on his face.

"What?" Rayce snapped.

"The Hunt is finished here," the Faerie said, looking back over his shoulder where the last of the Hunters were gathering back where they had initially landed, sledges empty, around Kieran's unconscious form sprawled in the grass.

Rayce could already see the change in the Forest. Streams of ley magic bubbled through the riverbeds now, and new shoots were already blooming from the twisted branches. The dead were feeding the savage land, renewing the earth magic that had been so mysteriously and suddenly drained away since the last time the Hunt had come. In time, with more work, it might once again resemble the landscape of Gwyn's memories.

"The Hunt is finished when I say it is, Caelus." Rayce left the rock behind, his father's words echoing in his mind. The Hunters shifted uncomfortably at his approach. What had they seen? Or was it guilt on their faces? Fear?

He kept silent as he slowly walked down the line and fixed each Hunter with a piercing stare, daring them to make a move against him. How long until the next attack? And the next? He already knew he didn't have what Gwyn had used to control them. One way or another, most of the Hunters had respected their Lord for his honour and service to his people. Rayce didn't have that luxury.

When he came upon Kratus in the line he felt heat rise in his chest, a flush spreading up his welted neck. It had started here. _Make an example,_ his father whispered. Or was it just his own voice?

Without warning, Rayce's right hand closed around Kratus' throat, his left arm fending off the Faerie's blows as he lifted the small man clear off the ground. The Hunter's face turned a nasty shade of purple and his filthy nails scrabbled across the hand with the Morgenstern ring as Rayce carried him a few yards back toward the nearest tree.

Up close, Rayce could see that the bark really _did_ look like there were faces contorted in pain just below the surface. A long split in the trunk pulsed weakly with blue-white light, and Rayce slammed the Faerie against the tree. He pushed, hard.

Kratus' eyes bulged in horror. The bark was shivering, cracking as it opened further, creaking and stretching around the Hunter's legs. Brittle wood crept over heaving shoulders, strong enough to hold the dead... and the living.

Rayce dropped his grip, lest he be caught as well, and Kratus finally managed to draw a shaking, choking breath as the tree moved more swiftly to trap its prey. A few branches bent down ponderously to push the panicked Hunter deeper into the split, and that's when he finally started screaming. Horror rose to its highest pitch as agony joined in to create a macabre duet, and Kratus howled in pain now, where before he had laughed.

Black and green eyes watched coldly as the Hunter was pulled further into the tree with a sickening imitation of swallowing, only one hand left free to rip at the branches still prodding him inward. His shrieks ripped across the savage Fey gathered behind Rayce, and the Shadowhunter heard more than one of them lean over to gag as they bore witness. An inhuman keening was the last sound they heard as the bark sealed over Kratus' face and muted his screams permanently.

The split in the trunk was healed now, and Rayce turned only his eyes upward to where new blooms were racing along the branches. The Forest was pleased.

He turned around to face the Wild Hunt, his face impassive as he took in their nauseated looks of disgust... and fear. _Make them fear you._

His voice was sore when he spoke, unfamiliar to his ears, but the strange new tone suited his mood right now.

"Does anybody else have a problem with me?"

A flash of dark energy popped in the swirling darkness of the Void, resolving into a owl in flight that struggled against the winds to reach a lone, dark figure that stood on the edge of a high, craggy cliff. A fork of white-veined black lightning crackled across the sky and thunder rolled, though no rain fell. Rain never fell here.

As the owl reached the pale-skinned demon who bore a coronet of barbed wires and gold-green eyes, its feathers ruffled and transformed smoothly into a lithe woman that alighted on the blasted rock. Black hair streamed back from a face that was both beautiful and terrible. She had forgone the black snakes that typically poured from her eyes for this meeting. One slim finger twisted and the air stilled around the two demons, allowing them to speak and be heard.

"You look pleased with yourself," Asmodeus said smoothly, the disinterest in his slit-pupilled eyes contradicting his questioning tone.

Lilith's eyes burned with triumphant intensity. "Alicante burns on the Mortal Plain," she hissed. "Their realm is ripe for the taking!"

She allowed herself to savour the memories of the Shadowhunters in their realm of Edom, and the broken ruin of a city that she had kept as a trophy there.

The _asmodei_ had razed that world with glee, burning out the sky and drying up sparkling oceans until they became nothing more than vast salt flats dotted with the bones of long-dead creatures. Even the Shadowhunters' precious _skeptron_ hadn't been enough to save them in the end. She nearly laughed to remember their final weeks; barricaded in a city, surrounded by legions. Their demon towers had finally gone dark, and then there had been nothing to hold back the hoard. The end was always the sweetest part. But it had been so _long_ since she had crushed a crop of Nephilim.

"You're obsessed with them, Lilith," Asmodeus said dryly. "I thought you might have learned your lesson after your son's failure."

She tossed her head back, annoyed at the reminder of Jonathan's mistake of toying with his prey. She refused to take the bait. "They've never been this vulnerable before. The foolish Fey of their world have played with what they didn't fully understand, and now the wards will be weakened for a time. We must strike now!"

"'We?'" Asmodeus asked.

"We can finish what Sammael and I started," she purred. "Just think of the pleasure of draining a world. It's been too long. A pretty gift for losing Edom."

Asmodeus gave her a considering look, one hand reaching up to rub across his chin as he regarded her. "Weakened or not, their wards still stand. Legions will die trying to cross, and thousands more will not live long enough to make any difference in that realm."

Lilith laughed and swept her arm out over the cliff.

Below them, the demon city of Pandemonium sprawled away into the darkness, hellfire burning in pockets to illuminate the snarling pits of writhing limbs and snapping maws. Within their bubble of quiet on the clifftop, it was impossible to hear the shrieks and screeches coming from below, but she knew the cries of her children well.

"The wards will only cull the weak." Her glistening red lips spread into a slow smile as she watched Sammael nod in agreement. "And what do I care of the cost?"

Lilith turned her black eyes down at the greatest city of the Abyss and couldn't contain her dark laughter as she surveyed the seething masses. Vengeance for what they had done to her. Vengeance for what they had done to Jonathan.

She looked sideways at Asmodeus and saw that he was already calculating what would be needed, the general of Hell's armies already strategizing for the coming battle.

"Raise them, Asmodeus," she said breathlessly, excitement humming through her body. "Unleash Hell."

 _**Author's note: I remember getting a request during PotC to add asterisks when I was shifting POVs because the extra spacing didn't show on this platform. I'll try to remember to tag them in for posts here! Ty for the feedback! :D_


	5. Chapter 5

**5**

Sera sighed impatiently. _If Mark Blackthorn is alive, he's a goddamn ghost_ , she thought to herself paradoxically.

She had started making cautious phone calls almost immediately after she had Portaled back from Prague, stepping from the early hours of the morning in Europe to the early hours of the afternoon of North America in a second. This was Hell. Portal-lag was officially her own personal version of Hell.

It was one thing for Andrej to give her a name and say this guy lived somewhere near Los Angeles, but she hadn't really appreciated how hard it might be to find him. Shadowhunters were pretty good at staying off the Mundane grid, and it wasn't like she could just waltz into the Los Angeles Institute and ask. _Or can I?_ She contemplated fabricating a false identity and taking a stab at it, but something in Andrej's words made her pause. _Your Clave may have tried to forget him,_ he had said. Sounds like Mark Blackthorn was a touchy issue with the Clave. Big surprise. In her honest opinion, the Clave needed to find some chill.

It wasn't until she was making faces in the mirror of her washroom as she peeled away the prosthetics with one hand while juggling her phone in the other that she finally had a spark of inspiration, wracking her Mnemosyne-enhanced memory. A warlock in Ojai had been close friends with the Blackthorn's tutor years ago at the L.A. Institute. Maybe it would be worth asking her? What was her name...? Ophelia? Ophelia Moore.

Excited, Sera scrolled through her contacts until she found the entry. The phone rang three times before a lilting voice answered, "Hello?"

"Ophelia Moore?"

"Speaking," the warlock answered.

"I'm so sorry to call you out of the blue like this, but I was really hoping you could help me track down an old Shadowhunter friend of mine. I can make it worth your while." Sera nervously scratched at the bits of dried glue on the tips of her ears.

"Do you have something of theirs to use as a focus for the tracking spell?" Ophelia sounded bored. Business as usual.

"No, but I was hoping you actually might just know the person I'm looking for. Mark Blackthorn?" She held her breath.

On the other end of the line, Ophelia went silent for a moment before her voice ventured hesitantly, "You mean Julian Blackthorn?"

"No."

"Tiberius?"

"No."

"Octavian?"

"No! How many Blackthorn Shadowhunters _are_ there in your area?" Sera was aghast.

"Well..." Ophelia trailed off thoughtfully. But then her voice hardened, "If Mark Blackthorn was truly a friend of yours, you would have known about his family."

 _Well, shit._

"Alright, I don't know him. But I _do_ know that he was raised in the Los Angeles Institute until the Wild Hunt claimed him during the Dark War. After that, there's nothing to find. Your friend Diana worked there as a tutor, surely you know _something?_ "

"There's nothing else to know," Ophelia replied coldly. "As you said, Mark Blackthorn was claimed by the Hunt."

Sera nodded to herself. The warlock knew something. Time to blow some smoke. _Initiate bullshit mode._

"I have it on good authority," she said as her fingers brushed her throat unconsciously, "That he's alive and living in hiding near you. If you're worried about spilling Clave secrets, don't be. I already know. I don't mean him any harm, but he might have valuable information about an investigation I'm working on. Just give me an address, and I will completely leave your name out of my report. No one needs to know we ever spoke." Sera could almost see the warlock teetering on the edge of telling her, so she added, "The Clave appreciates your loyalty."

Ophelia sighed and gave her an address in Santa Barbara. Sera cheered inwardly, but stayed smooth as she thanked the warlock for her cooperation. She was about to end the phone call when Ophelia cut in over her, "Whoever you are, I can only assume that you're going to ask that boy about the Hunt."

 _'That boy'? He's gotta be in his forties by now._ She didn't get a chance to respond before Ophelia said in a voice that shook a little bit. "I hope it's worth it."

The line went dead and Sera looked down at her phone in confusion. _What the hell does that mean?_

She rustled up her favourite jeans and a tank top, added her leather jacket, dug her boots out of Rayce's pack with a pang, and then tied her hair back. The closest she was going to be able to get was her flat in Los Angeles; she would have to take a more conventional mode of transportation from there to Santa Barbara, having never been there before.

Her Portal sent her to a tiny living room that smelled like Heaven, if Heaven was an incredibly stuffy apartment over top of a Chinese restaurant. She let the Portal fall closed behind her and crossed the dimly-lit room to the kitchenette, where she rifled through the top drawer for a set of keys. The flat didn't have much of _her_ in it; she rarely spent time in L.A., preferring her place in Las Vegas instead. But there were perks to owning this place, as she was about to demonstrate. She blazed a glamour rune onto the back of her left shoulder and took on the appearance of a pretty Chinese lady in her mid-thirties, straight dark hair cut to chin-length.

Sera slipped out the door and re-locked it behind her, stepping gingerly around the stacks of take-out cartons for the restaurant on the narrow back stairs. The smell of Heaven was much stronger down here, and she poked her head into the kitchen to check for witnesses. Seeing none, she swiped what looked like an order of moo shu pork from the back counter where the deliveries were put together. It wasn't stealing if she owned the place, was it?

The battered screen door banged shut behind her as she took her pilfered dinner outside to sit on the curb in the alley around the back of the restaurant. She wolfed it down in a hurry, heedless of how hot it was, and tried not to count how many meals she had missed recently. It just added another depressing ring to her circle of Portal-lag Hell.

Sera licked the last bit of sauce off her fingers and tossed the carton into one of the bins lined up like sentinels across the back of the building. A narrow, corrugated metal door was rolled down and securely padlocked to left of the exit she had used. She used one of the keys on the ring she had taken from upstairs to open the padlock and then she shoved the protesting door upward.

A gleaming black Ducati Monster 1521 Dark motorcycle leaned casually on its kickstand and Sera sighed with pleasure. No Portal-lag. Just sweet, glorious open highway and the wind. She had never bothered to acquire a car in Los Angeles because it was such a nightmare to finding parking, but this... She pulled on her helmet and rolled the bike out of the storage locker before gunning it to life with a satisfying roar. This was going to be great.

It was an hour later, when she was still glumly guiding her bike along a few feet at a time in the rush-hour traffic and sweating half to death, that she remembered why she hated L.A., moo shu pork notwithstanding. _I'm glad it's only a hundred miles to Santa Barbara,_ she thought sarcastically, _I should get there some time next week at this rate._

The congestion eased a bit as she got further away from the city and she was really able to get the bike purring, but just after she passed Ventura on the 101 North there was some sort of accident blocking off the lanes ahead. She shot a withering glance north in the general direction of Ojai and silently wondered if a certain warlock was behind this.

As she waited impatiently for a lane to be cleared, she thought about what it meant to be stuck like this. Not just in traffic, but in her situation. All of these sheep, just idling and waiting obediently, inching ahead in their air-conditioned cars as hours of their lives bled away. Sera revved her engine a bit and ground her teeth. She _could_ take the bike onto the shoulder and get around this, laws be damned. In fact, a quick _mendelin_ would take care of any cops. Find a way or make one. Whatever it takes. But what did that make her?

Before she could worry herself any deeper into an existential crisis, the cars ahead of her started to move again. She felt a flash of fear cut through her as she passed the accident scene a few minutes later. A motorcycle was crushed under the back wheels of a transport truck. She shivered once and then kept the speedometer under 70mph the rest of the way to Santa Barbara. Maybe following the rules was a good idea sometimes.

It was after 9pm when she finally rolled to a stop at the curb in front of a small bungalow done in the Spanish revival style. Red clay terracotta tiles glowed in the sunset and shadows played across the rough, white stucco walls. Painted black shutters stood open on either side of the wide front window on the left side of the house, and a matching black garage door stood closed on the right. Between the two was a path done in interlocking brick under a covered archway that led to a wooden door set back through a small patio. The tiny patch of lawn looked like it could use some water in the summer heat, but it was neatly kept, just like the gardens hemmed in by natural sandstone rocks.

Sera engaged the kickstand on her motorcycle and stood, stretching some stiff muscles in her lower back as she pulled off her helmet. Her glamour had faded somewhere between here and Ventura, and she went for a more conservative image as she reapplied a much stronger rune to once again look much as she had before heading out on the town in Las Vegas, except this time she left her Marks visible. It would hold up against someone with the Sight for a little while, at least. She took a deep breath and stepped onto the interlocking bricks.

This wasn't really what she had been expecting when she had pictured a Shadowhunter's home. Not a single gargoyle in sight. She was surprised to see a kiddie pool, complete with a few floaties, on the patio as she followed the path to the front door. An assorted collection of child- and adult-sized flip flops were kicked into a haphazard heap next to a doormat that offered its welcome. _I don't think I've ever gone hunting in flip flops._

She pressed the doorbell and heard it chime inside cheerfully.

The door was opened by a striking Latina woman who looked to be in her late thirties with her long, lush black hair swept over her shoulder loosely. Sharp, dark brown eyes took in the visitor's runes in an instant and Sera saw her tense.

"May I help you?" she woman asked politely. Who was she? Had Ophelia given her the wrong address? But it couldn't be wrong; this woman had runes as plain as day.

"I hope so," Sera said uncertainly. "I'm looking for Mark Blackthorn."

The Latina's lips compressed into a thin line. "You must be mistaken. He was claimed by the Hunt a long time ago." The woman started to close the door, but Sera's hand shot out to catch it.

"Yeah, but you got him back, didn't you?" Even as she said it, she knew she was right. "I just need to talk to him. Please." Her eyes must have betrayed some of her desperation because the door stopped pushing against her hand.

Sera got a long, hard look, but the woman nodded and opened the door with a warning in her eyes. _Don't make me regret this,_ they seemed to say.

The inside of the house was comfortable the way that homes were supposed to be. Brightly-coloured woven rugs covered worn wooden floors and there were yet more shoes in a pile by the door. The walls were painted a warm ochre colour that brought out the earthy feeling of the painted tiles and wooden furniture, and framed pictures showed a trio of children at various ages laughing for the camera, sometimes with the woman at Sera's side.

They turned through an open, arched doorway and found a tall, thin boy with a mane of pale white-gold hair in his late teens leaning over a chocolate cake with a piping bag held carefully in his right hand. He was just finishing, and Sera could read the slightly wobbly, uneven blue letters upside down, _HAPPY ANNIVERSARY._ Was this their son?

Without looking up, he asked cheerfully in a melodious voice, "Who was at the door, Tina?"

"We have a guest from the Clave," she answered tightly.

The boy's head whipped up and the _Y_ skewed. One gold eye and one blue-green eye fixed Sera with an intense look that spoke of fear. She took a step back from that gaze, from eyes that shone with a wildness that couldn't be contained even when shadowed with worry. She was speechless. The boy had the same slight point to his ears that Rayce did, the same delicate bone structure.

"The Clave swore not to interfere with our lives so long as we held faith with the bargain," he cursed. "We have done nothing to betray that trust." His fingers tightened on the piping bag, but he didn't notice the new line of icing on the counter top.

Sera's mind reeled. _What the hell is going_ on? "Mark... Blackthorn?" she breathed.

"Why have you come?" he asked by way of answering.

"I'm not from the Clave," Sera said. "And what bargain?"

The woman he had called Tina swept past her and went to boy's side, slipping an arm around his shoulders protectively. "If you are not from the Clave, I think you need to explain who you are and how you found us."

She gave them her true name, trusting her instincts on this, and told them why she had come, though she left out Ophelia's name. A deal was a deal. Mark shook visibly when she mentioned the Wild Hunt and dropped the piping bag before any more of the granite counter turned blue. Doubt twisted in her stomach as guilt wormed its way through her. She shouldn't have come.

Her voice unconsciously lowered, the way one would speak to a frightened animal, as she finished. "But I thought the Hunt released you?"

A bitter smile crossed his lips. "The Fair Folk don't give back what they take." He pushed away from the counter and left the kitchen, the cake forgotten.

Tina grabbed Sera's wrist before the younger Shadowhunter could move to follow him.

"You need to understand something, Sera," she said in a low voice. "The Fey love to toy with mortals. When they made that deal with the Blackthorns over twenty years ago, they were very careful to word it so that Mark could choose to return to the Hunt or to his family." She closed her eyes, remembering the betrayal they had felt. "They said _nothing_ about freeing him."

"I don't understand," Sera whispered. "He's here, isn't he?"

Tina shook her head sadly. "Part of him is." She gestured to the long wooden table. "Sit. Sometimes he just needs a little bit of time."

Sera sat. This was more than she had bargained for.

"Mark is..." Cristina searched for the right words. "Unbound, from the Hunt, I suppose. One of the emissaries from the Unseelie, Iarlath, released him from the call of the horns so that he could aid in our investigation. But that was all."

"But his eyes...?" Sera asked.

"It's not just his eyes, _novia_. The Hunters are neither alive nor dead. You can see – he looks no older now than he was then. Half of his soul is still shackled to the Hunt." Tears welled up in her dark eyes but did not fall. "He is cursed to hear the rush of the wild winds, the baying of the horns, to feel the endless pull of the next world, but he is no longer bound to answer. Some nights he still wakes, screaming."

Sera felt sick. Twenty years.

"When Robert Lightwood came to the Institute after everything happened, we thought it was over. But the Clave could see that Mark still belonged to the Hunt, no matter what choice he had made. They looked at him, half-starved and fearful of the touch of a stele, and said that he would never survive as one of the Nephilim. But he had committed no crime but the crime of his birth – they had no grounds to Strip his Marks."

Sera looked around at the home they had built together. "So they turned him out?"

"Yes. They said he should consider it an 'honourable discharge', but we understood. They needed to bury him. His heritage was still far too political in those days, and they didn't think he was worth the effort just to restore a broken Shadowhunter to their ranks." She cursed quietly in Spanish. "The Clave swore to secrecy everyone who knew of his return and warned him to keep his head down. They would let him live like an exile, a life like the one led by Jocelyn Fairchild, save that they would know about him, and he would stay hidden."

"And he _agreed_ to this?" Sera said incredulously.

"They didn't give him much of a choice."

"But what about you?"

Cristina looked sideways at where the cake rested on the counter. "When I went to Los Angeles all those years ago, it was because I was young and filled with the idea that I could broker a better truce than the Cold Peace. I had heard about Mark Blackthorn, and I wanted to learn more. I thought I could save the Fey." She shook her head. "I couldn't. But if I could just save one... just one... it would be him." Her dark brown eyes were filled with sadness.

"I held him together when nothing else could. I gathered up all the broken pieces of that boy and held them to my heart. I prayed to the Angel that it would be enough." Her hand drifted down to a medallion that hung at her neck and she fingered its worn face.

"And it was," Mark said from the arched doorway. He crossed the kitchen gracefully to take the chair next to Tina and then folded her hands together gently. He lifted them to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to the back of her fingers with his eyes closed. " _Mi roca_."

Tina's lips curved up into a smile. "I hate when you call me your rock. It sounds so unromantic."

" _Mi amor_ ," he corrected in a whisper.

"That's better," she said. They both seemed to remember at the same time that they had a guest, and Sera fought down the wrench in her heart as she looked at them together.

Mark bowed his head slightly in her direction. "My apologies, Sera. I did not mean to give offense with my abrupt leave-taking."

"None taken," she answered faintly. He was like Rayce, but different, too. She prayed that she wasn't looking at what she would get back from the Hunt when she found a way to free her prince.

"You came to ask me of the Hunt. I am ready now. I may have been sworn to secrecy once, but no more." His eyes blazed with defiance at those last words.

She took a deep breath and considered where to start before she began explaining what had led up to Rayce's ensnarement as the new Lord of the Hunt. At the mention of a manipulative bastard with blue-black hair, Mark's posture stiffened.

"Kieran," he whispered.

"Is that his name? You have no idea what I -" Sera broke off when she saw Mark start to shake again. Cristina covered one of his hands with her own and squeezed.

"I'm sorry," Sera apologized. _How does he live like this?_

"It's alright," Mark replied, controlling his voice. "It has been many years since last I thought of Kieran. You were right to call him manipulative; that is the form his gift of magic takes through his Unseelie heritage." The broken Shadowhunter looked down at this hands in shame where Tina still held on to him. "Ever did he enjoy preying upon those made vulnerable by their hearts."

Sera's heart sank as she thought of Rayce being trapped with Hunters like Kieran. How long did he have before they began turning on him?

"Please, Mark. I've been trying to find anything that can help – how the Hunt was started, or how to free someone. I thought..." she trailed off, not wanting to embarrass him, but he finished her thought for her.

"You thought that I would be more useful, that I would have the answers because I had been freed?"

Sera looked down awkwardly.

"I am only Unbound, Sera. I do not believe that even the Hunt knows how to reunite the two halves of a Hunter's soul from beyond the veil."

Sera fought back a wave of disappointment as Cristina broke in, "But can't someone just unbind Rayce, too? At least until they can figure this out?"

Mark shook his head at her. "He wears the cloak, _mi corazon._ The Unseelie King and the Queen of the Seelie Court may still summon him at their pleasure. He is more tightly bound than I ever was." He turned back to Sera and continued, "But I may yet be of some use to you for your other query."

She looked back up into his strange eyes, not daring to hope.

"Some nights," he said slowly, "When we camped in the loneliest reaches of this world and the night sky sparkled with a thousand, thousand stars, I could hear Gwyn whisper to himself. A name. _Veralysia_ , he would sigh.

"Some of the oldest Hunters knew who she was, and so I came to know as well. Gwyn's love, from his life before the Hunt. So, too, did I learn where she dwells. She once faced the same burden you now bear, Sera. I can think of no other, save the Unseelie King himself, who would know more of Gwyn's transformation, or what could be done to reverse it. If she essayed an attempt at freeing him, then, at the very least, she may be able to share with you what was tried. If not, she was alive at the birth of the Hunt, and may have answers to your questions."

Sera allowed a glimmer of hope to return. "Where can I find her?"

Mark stood to retrieve a tablet from the counter, where it had avoided being iced earlier, and quickly brought up a topographical map of the Arizona desert. _Of course,_ Sera thought to herself, _he would recognize landmarks this way._

He zoomed in over an area on the north rim of the Grand Canyon and recited softly, "Under the Eye at the Unseelie Gates, the Watcher Watches, and the Waiter Waits." He pointed one delicate finger with its nail bitten down to the quick at the map. "There is an unusual rock formation here that resembles an eye. It will mark the place where you will find a cavern that leads down into the earth, and if you follow it far enough, into the realm of the Unseelie." He looked up at her, his polychrome eyes serious. "I have heard that it is a strange place, Sera. You should have care if you decide to pursue Veralysia."

She reached across and took his free hand, the one not held by Tina. "Thank you," she whispered. Gratitude welled up inside her, and she suddenly felt fiercely protective of him. She understood what had compelled Tina to hold him together, as she had put it. Mark had such a terrible vulnerability, but he had faced down the ghosts of his past to help her anyway. She swore that she would find a way to repay him.

The shrill ring of a phone cut through the silence and Mark jumped up reflexively, the moment broken. He scooped up the handset from its cradle and answered steadily, though. His face broke out into a wide smile, so genuine and radiant that Sera's heart ached to see it.

"Ah, _mi niña bonita,_ is it time for a bedtime story?" he asked delightedly, carrying the phone away toward the back of the house when Sera heard a little girl squeal in excitement on the other end of the line. Mark grinned apologetically at Sera, laughing as he disappeared through a door at the back of the house.

She looked back to Tina, who had turned to watch Mark with a wistful smile. The woman smiled gently and rose from the table as well, picking up the tablet and offering it to Sera so the she could email herself the link.

"The girls are sleeping over at a friend's house tonight, and our son is staying with friends in Montecito. But Esmeralda won't sleep until Mark tells her a story."

Sera was tactful enough to connect the significance of the clumsily-iced cake and a couple clearing out their children for the night. "Ah... I'm sorry I kind of ruined your anniversary night."

She laughed and threw a telling look back over her shoulder toward the bedroom. "There's still plenty of night left, _chica._ "

Cristina led her guest back out to the curb where her bike was waiting. Sera saw again the heap of flip-flops, the kiddie pool, and she gathered up a bit of courage to address the formidable Latina.

"Your kids aren't Shadowhunters, are they?"

Tina shook her head ruefully. "No. Mark..." A flush rose to her cheeks, and she tried again. "I told you that Hunters are neither dead nor truly alive... He cannot have children of his own."

"I'm so sorry," Sera started to apologize, her own face starting to blush. "You don't have to-"

"No," she lifted a finger to gently touch Sera's lips. "I want you to understand." Her dark eyes shone in the glow of the streetlights that had come to life while Sera had been inside, and traces of light danced in her hair like stars in the darkness.

"When we first got together, I thought I could be enough for him. Raziel knows I tried. But the Hunt... it seduces them, Sera. The freedom, the endless night sky, the _wildness..._ some part of every heart craves it. The lands of deep Faerie nearly broke his mind, and the Hunters did their very best to break his body and spirit. But even with all of that... he said it himself – one half of his soul is still chained to the Hunt. The horns were loud, and he could feel the wind on his face.

"After a few years, I could feel him slipping away. I thought for certain that's what the Faeries had always intended; a poisoned gift that would eventually return to them no matter what he had chosen. Ophelia Moore," she looked up at Sera knowingly, "Was a friend of Diana Wrayburn's. She cast the misdirection spell on Mark so that the Mundanes don't realize that he's not aging. We live as Jocelyn once did, our Marks glamoured from the eyes of those without the Sight. We took a chance and adopted our son, Lucas. A Mundane."

She couldn't keep the smile off her face as her memories slid backwards through the years. "If you could have seen Mark with Lucas in his arms, you would never have been able to see the shadow of the Hunt on his face. A few years later we found Micaela, and then Esmeralda." She sniffed, and this time she didn't hold back the pair of tears that slipped down her cheeks as her eyes burned with pride.

"Our children are his life now. They have taught him to live for more, Sera, and now the call of the Hunt is quieter, the winds gentler." She lifted the medallion on its chain and kissed it. "I thank the Angel every day for Mark and for our family, for giving me the strength to leave the Clave. I would defend them to my last breath to keep them safe."

Sera was fighting not to cry as well when Tina embraced her tightly and whispered, "I hope you save your love, too, Sera." After a moment's hesitation, she added. "But please don't come back."

 _**Author's note: Holds up hands defensively Put down your pitchforks! I know that Mark is a fan-favourite. I pulled together the threads of his future from Lady Midnight, so don't kill me! We'll have to wait until Lord of Shadows comes out to see if I'm reading it correctly. See Lady Midnight, page 136, to see Kieran explain the deal. You'll find various characters throughout Lady Midnight have the same thought, that Faeries don't give back what they've taken (pages 139, 141, 151, 613 just to give you a few), and the last reference to Mark's appearance on page 610 cites his eyes as "polychrome". I chose to interpret Iarlath's intervention from page 136-137 as him "unbinding" Mark from the Hunt for the duration of the investigation. To the best of our knowledge, that was not restored._

 _Don't kill me!_

 _Thanks Tara for naming Ophelia and the Rosales kids! NAME ALL THE THINGS!_

 _Thanks Ana Morgenstern and Beccimon for helping me out with some Spanish, I'll be relying on them again soon because the second half of this chapter had to be moved once it became clear that Santa Barbara was going to occupy more time than originally planned._


	6. Chapter 6

**6**

Jace crouched down again in the tangle of scrub edging a beach along the Paraná River and touched the sand where it was suddenly wiped smooth. The mid-afternoon sun beat down on the back of his neck, uncomfortably hot, and he wiped away the beads of perspiration from his brow impatiently. None of this made sense. Slipping his Sensor out of one of his many pockets, he fiddled with the settings for a moment and then squinted at it. Glared, really.

Alec called out from behind Jace, where he standing 'out of the way' and waiting for the all-clear from his parabatai, "What do you think?"

Jace sat back on his heels, arms dangling loosely over his knees as he double-checked the Sensor readings again. His mind was working overtime to process the irregularities he and Alec had started to pick up when Magnus had dropped them off here, nearly 45km north of Buenos Aires.

Demon sign had been easy to spot; the initial Sensor output had taken them right to the rip in the wards outside of the city. The crash of bodies through the trees had been easy to follow. Deadwood lay shattered, undergrowth was torn up, and the ground had been scarred by the passing of claws and talons. It had seemed inevitable that they would be able to follow the trail to wherever the demons had holed up to wait out the daylight.

But now... Jace idly lifted a handful of sand and let it trail through his fingers while he continued to evaluate what they had found.

"Jace?" Alec called again.

"I don't get it," he confessed. "The demons were making a mad dash for the city hours ago. They had plenty of time to get there before sun-up. But then this." Jace swept his hands out in front of him where the landscape revealed no trace of the monsters they had been tracking.

"Fliers?" Alec offered.

Jace shook his head. "Nah. The tracks look pretty heavy, I don't see any obvious lift-offs or landings, and the shape of the feet is wrong for most of our flappy bird friends. I'm slightly concerned that I don't recognize the prints. I'd feel a lot better if I knew what I was looking for."

"What's on the Sensor?" Alec came to stand next to his parabatai, officially crossing the line to 'in the way'.

"Nothing that the tracks don't already tell me. There was a huge demonic presence here, they were running hard for the city, and then something happened to slow them down. They vanished, hid their passing, and now I have no idea where to look." He took his gaze away from the empty beach and the brown river water rushing past, his gold eyes worried as they found Alec's. "Demons don't stop to think about stuff like this, Alec. They're hunters; they don't care about leaving trails. They don't coordinate. They don't even usually make plans. There's something else we're not seeing."

Alec exhaled slowly. "No chance that they just up and vanished, right? Fried in the sun?"

Jace shot a look sideways at him. "Not so much. Honestly, I haven't seen demons work together like this since..." He trailed off as his memories carried him back to a black ship on a very different river than the one he was looking at now.

"Since...?" Alec prompted.

"Since Valentine was commanding them with Maellartach. If I didn't know better, I'd swear they were taking orders."

Both men fell silent as they contemplated the possibility. Alec was the first to break the quiet. "What does your gut tell you?"

Jace considered for a moment. "That we could be in serious trouble once the sun goes down."

Alec lifted one dark eyebrow. "How serious?"

A slow grin spread across Jace's lips. "Like, 'we should go to church' serious."

And that was how they found themselves in a small, hot church in the Belgrano area half an hour later after Alec had called Magnus to get them back to the city. Magnus had spent the morning trying to make contact with the city's Downworlders, and he immediately returned to wherever he had been before picking them up.

Jace started quietly prying up a flagstone near the altar while Alec kept watch from the nave. Leaving Alicante the way they had, there hadn't been any time to grab weapons. Magnus had been able to get them clothes (no surprise there), but they were going to need some firepower if they had to square off against demons.

 _If we find them in time,_ Jace thought to himself as he finally managed to get the edge of the stone to lift. A scream cut through the stuffy silence of the church and Jace dropped the stone in surprise, his head whipping up to see a nun clutching at her chest in shock at the state of the altar.

" _¡Sor, por favor!_ " He cried, jumping to his feet and holding out his hands soothingly to calm her. " _¡Solo estoy aquí para quitarle tu virtud!_ "

His words had an unintended effect, but she _did_ stop screaming... because she promptly fainted, her eyes rolling back as she crumpled to the stone floor.

Alec skidded to a stop, drawn from his lookout by the Sister's scream. He shot an accusatory glare at Jace as he knelt down to scoop up the nun. "Why would you _say_ that to her?"

Jace looked at him blankly. "I said I was only here to take her weapons, didn't I?"

Alec started laughing as he laid the woman down gently in one of the pews. He bit his lip when he turned back to his brother. " _Armas_. Not _virtud._ "

"Well, what did I say, then?"

Alec's eyes sparkled, and for a moment, he could almost forget the weight of responsibility across his shoulders. "You may have just inadvertently threatened her vows of chastity."

Jace frowned for a moment and then comprehension dawned across his features before he started smiling and laughing quietly. "That explains it, then," he said.

"That you just offered to deflower a nun?" Alec snorted.

"No!" Jace protested, kneeling back down to work at the stone again. "Well, yeah. But no." As he lifted it once more, he grinned up at Alec. "The last time I was in Spain, I asked a rogue vampire if he wanted a taste of my weapons... I guess now that I know, I should have been flattered that he said yes..."

Alec rolled his eyes and shook his head as Jace started passing up the cache of weapons. "You need to stop taking your Spanish lessons from Rafe," he scolded.

The stash didn't have much, but it would be enough just in case they ran into any trouble before they were able to persuade the Institute to prepare for a demon attack. _But it won't be anywhere near enough if they don't listen to us,_ Jace worried silently.

He set the stone down gently back into place and stood up, brushing off his knees. "I won't be held responsible for your son's twisted sense of humour."

Alec laughed and turned to lead their way back out of the church, past the sleeping nun in her pew. "It's not _nearly_ as much fun when you're on the other side of the joke, now is it?"

The Buenos Aires Institute was hidden in the Monserrat neighbourhood of the city, and the Mundanes had no idea they were walking past it as they bustled around city hall and the city legislature. Alec pushed open one of the great wooden doors of the stone edifice and they stepped into the noticeably-cooler interior.

The inside of the Institute was vastly different from its counterpart in New York. Its pews had been cleared, but the great open space was now clearly serving as an enormous training room. Stained-glass windows shone in the afternoon light, painting the wooden floor with splashes of colour. The dais was still intact, but now it hosted tall racks of weapons in place of sacrament tables.

Two Shadowhunters in their late twenties or early thirties flipped off the heavy beams overhead and landed lightly in front of the newcomers, their bodies covered in a thin sheen of sweat from their sparring.

The female of the pair brushed her dark bangs out of her warm brown eyes and tucked the loose strands behind her ears as she smiled widely. " _Dios,_ I prayed for gorgeous men to appear and here they are!" She looked upward at the ceiling where it arched high above them, an expectant look on her face. "A million dollars would be wonderful, too!"

Jace grinned and pulled down the collar of his shirt slightly so that his marriage rune was just visible, and then he winked back at her. "Should have prayed for single men, _bella._ "

The woman huffed before she caught sight of Alec's plain gold wedding band and then connected it with his runes. Shadowhunters didn't typically exchange rings... but everyone knew that one of them had – with a warlock. Her eyes widened in recognition as she breathed, "Consul..."

Alec nodded once and studied her face, searching his memory for her name. "Carolina Monteverde?"

She reached out her hand for his. "And my brother, Marcos." The man had the same eyes as his sister, and Alec could easily see the family resemblance. As they clasped hands she eyed the ex-Consul curiously. "I must confess that I would never have thought to find you here when Alicante is so crippled."

Alec closed his eyes. This could get complicated. He needed to be careful.

"Alicante is just a city, Carolina. There's much more at stake now than our pride and our homeland." His dark blue eyes looked past her, searching for other Shadowhunters. "Have you not received any warning from Idris?"

Carolina shook her head, her dark eyes cautious. "We learned of the sabotage, and a half dozen Shadowhunters were sent here to rest and recover from the fires. They are in the rooms above. What warning do you speak of?"

Alec's stomach clenched. _Everett, you goddamn fool._ "Gather your enclave, everyone you can reach." He fixed his eyes on Marcos and saw the worry in the younger Shadowhunter's eyes. "Your city stands threatened by a mass of demons that have broken through the world's wards while the magic is temporarily weakened in the aftermath of the attack on Alicante."

In less than forty-five minutes, the entirety of the Buenos Aires enclave was gathered in the Institute, along with those who were still recovering from the fires. There was no shortage of eyebrows lifted in surprise once they started to recognize Alec, and he noted with faint amusement that nearly every one of the women, and a few of the men, knew Jace on sight. Maybe he _hadn't_ been kidding about that Mr. December photo-shoot last year...

As the last group of three Nephilim hustled through the doors and joined the crowd, Alec did a quick head-count. Only seventeen, including himself and Jace. This city had been hit by Sebastian Morgenstern at the beginning of the Dark War, and its Institute was still relatively small even after all these years. Shadowhunters had had to spread themselves pretty thin to keep the world covered while they rebuilt their ranks with the Mortal Cup. They were only just now getting back up to a decent number of active warriors, but it was still hard to keep the Institutes running. Alec had been uniquely positioned to witness that struggle day in and day out for the last decade, and he worried about what this new threat would do to their already shaky recovery.

Alec stepped up onto the dais to stand between two of the weapon racks while Jace remained with the other Nephilim. Carolina nodded to him encouragingly and then looked out over the members of her enclave as they settled for him.

"I'm going to be honest with you because we don't have enough time for anything else," he said quietly, drawing them in with his voice and forcing them to pay attention. "I can see the doubt on some of your faces. I know you think that I should be under house arrest in Alicante right now."

He let his head fall forward for a moment before shaking his head back and pushing his black hair out of his eyes defiantly. "But my home is ashes now. Everything that happened before the Unseelie betrayal is ashes. The magic they used to take their revenge was the same magic that keeps the wards around our world strong enough to keep out the worst of the demons."

Alec saw some of the Shadowhunters shift uncomfortably as they grasped what he was saying. "After the surge, there was some damage to those wards; damage that will allow the demons an easier crossing to this dimension. One of those weak spots opened north of your city.

"Jace and I have already been to the point where they crossed over. Make no mistake," his hard eyes bored into them, willing them to believe. "They are coming. More than the average breach. When the sun goes down, they will hit the city and we _must_ stand together."

One of the men behind Jace began muttering in Spanish to the Shadowhunter standing next to him, but in the quiet of the Institute, Alec could hear him. Alec's eyes narrowed not only at what was being said, but at the audacity of interrupting the Consul. _Ex-Consul_ , he reminded himself.

" _Si piensas que no entiendo lo que dices, estas usted se equivoca,"_ he said in a low voice, addressing the detractor.

The Shadowhunter's head snapped up, clearly surprised, but he recovered quickly. "You're asking us to join you in committing treason, Lightwood. If you think that we will risk-" Jace's fist smashed into the man's face and he dropped like a stone. The others stared in shock.

Jace looked up at Alec and held up his hands, his eyes wide open with feigned innocence. "Alec, I'm telling you - I couldn't just stand here and listen to that again. Honestly. Sorry, not sorry."

Alec closed his eyes and prayed to the Angel for strength, but it came from an unexpected quarter.

"The Consul's right," Carolina said, drawing the eyes of her Nephilim. "If we do not stand together, we will die alone. There is no treason in defending our city from demons."

The others began nodding in agreement and she continued, "If we choose to ignore the warning that they have risked their lives to bring us, then we will have failed those who most depend on us. Let the Clave squabble over the politics of who is helping whom; it's _our_ blood that will be spilled for their games." Her face blazed with a fierce pride. "I don't see any Council members offering their lives for ours. I will accept help from any Nephilim who means to fight with weapons instead of words."

Carolina stepped up beside Alec and held out her hand to clasp his forearm, and he closed his hand around hers in turn. "May the Angel watch over us, Consul. What would you have us do?"

Alec held her arm for just one extra second and took the time to lock eyes with her and whisper his thanks. In return, she murmured gently, "For Rafe." Alec nodded in appreciation before he released her and turned to Jace, who was studying his knuckles thoughtfully. "What have you got, Jace?"

Gold eyes flashed in the light filtering through the stained-glass, looking for a moment like those of a wolf on the hunt, and he grinned. "I've got some ideas."

The next hour was a flurry of maps and a great deal of pointing as Jace outlined the likely approaches to the city and confirmed them with the locals. Demons, he explained as if lecturing at the Scholomance once more, would take the shortest possible route to reach the highest density of population to wreak the greatest amount of damage. The key was to cut them off before they got that far.

The Shadowhunters hustled around the Institute in a swirl of controlled chaos as they donned heavy gear and armed themselves generously. Tiny comm packs were clipped to jackets and earpieces were slipped into place carefully. This was going to take timing and coordination. Not one of them stopped to revive the lone protester who was still laying where he had fallen.

Alec leaned in toward Jace where he was carefully drawing curving lines on a map. "Your diplomacy is terrible," he whispered. "You know that, right?"

Jace paused for a moment and looked up from his work to flash a dazzling smile at Alec. He kept his voice low as he shot a glance at the unfortunate Shadowhunter. "Yeah, but my right-cross is _fantastic."_

Near the end of the hour, Magnus arrived. His hair was wilting slightly and his sky-blue shirt was a bit rumpled under his grey jacket, but he was smiling brilliantly.

"We won't be totally on our own tonight, darling," he announced proudly. "I found two good-sized wolf packs and a rather surly nest of vampires who were _terribly_ rude about being woken during the day." He waved off Alec's unspoken concern, the rings on his fingers sparkling in the fading light. "Don't worry, they'll join us once the sun goes down."

"Speaking of which," Jace said, as he slipped in his earpiece. "We need to get moving now if we're going to be in position by nightfall."

Sixteen Shadowhunters and one warlock climbed into an assortment of topless jeeps and faded pick-up trucks to head out to the four best ambush spots that Jace had selected with the help of the Argentines.

Alec, Jace, and Magnus were squashed into the back seat of Carolina's jeep as she made her way north through the city, and Alec took the time to swap information with Magnus. "Any word from Cairo yet?"

Magnus shook his head. "No. Everything was still quiet there when I checked in an hour ago. Nothing happened at sunset, and they're not getting any readings on their Sensors." He looked sideways at Alec's worried expression. "That's _good_ news, by the way."

Jace looked troubled as well, or at least as troubled as one can look with their shoulders scrunched up to their ears between the door and Alec, and he muttered, "Then why doesn't it _feel_ like good news?"

Magnus looked affronted. "Because you're only happy when you're brooding, biscuit."

"Stop calling me 'biscuit', or I'm going to kick you in the biscuits if we ever get out of this jeep," Jace threatened. In between them, Alec sighed in resignation.

The sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon as Jace, Alec, Magnus, Carolina and Marcos pulled themselves over the edge of a tall building in the Núñez area. Jace had positioned the Shadowhunters strategically along the coast to form a line of defense against the northern approach to the city. Each group of four was monitoring their Sensors for any sign of demonic activity, and the first to pick up readings would signal the others to collapse inward on their location. The werewolves had linked up with the Nephilim once they had entered the area, and Jace had been quick to scatter the members of one pack through his line and to extend the edges, while he sent the second pack racing ahead to screen the approach. The vampires would have to catch up once the sun was fully down.

Each pair of Shadowhunters began exchanging runes, and Jace felt renewed as the Marks burned along his skin. The calm that always came right before a battle was settling into his body, anxiety giving way to clarity. The sky began to darken, and he started scanning the area. Depending on where the demons had gone to ground for the day, it could take them a little while to reach the city, and his group was the furthest south.

Time passed, and full night fell. The city lights came to life slowly and glowed in windows along the waterfront. Jace looked up at the brilliant moon impatiently, a seraph blade clutched in one fist. Alec was surveying the horizon carefully, bow in hand, when a dark figure rose up over the edge of the wall behind them. Alec's hand whipped an arrow from his quiver, but he barely had time to draw it before a voice called out.

"Nephilim," a male voice hissed urgently. "The demons are already inside the city!" The vampire pointed back to the south, but they couldn't see anything at this distance. "They came up from _under_ the city! You must go! Now!"

Wary of a trap, Jace must of hesitated a moment too long, because the vampire sighed in exasperation. "Foolish Shadowhunters ask for our help, and then they do not believe us!" He turned to jump off the roof and cast a look over his shoulder as he spat, "The Night's Children will defend until you can decide if we are trustworthy or not."

"Wait," Alec called, looking sideways at Jace. "We'll follow you." Jace cast a pained look to the north where the other three groups would be waiting for the demon advance. As the others took hold of the railings on the fire escape they had climbed to get up here and started sliding back down, Jace shook his head in frustration and reached up to switch on his comms.

"Fall back, the demons are behind us. Head south immediately."

Alec didn't like the look on his parabatai's face as they rocketed back down to street level. They threw themselves back into Carolina's jeep and she floored it, racing back through the city dangerously as she wove in and out of traffic. The vampire was standing on the jeep's step rail at her door, calling directions through the window as he clung to the side of the vehicle.

Jace was relaying the directions back through the comms to guide the other groups to him, but they would be at least a few minutes behind. He hoped the pack noticed the Shadowhunter's hasty departure, but the second pack that had been sent out to scout was lost to him for now. _Stupid!_

It wasn't long before the jeep plunged through a thin wall of mist and Carolina screeched to a halt in the street. Screams cut through the night air ahead, but the noise of the city behind them faded beyond the edge of the fog.

"Hellmist," Marcos cursed. The Shadowhunters poured out of the jeep, weapons flashing in the glow of Jace's seraph blade. He called a second one to life in his left hand as he began jogging up the street, and Alec followed with an arrow nocked. Carolina and her brother fanned out behind them, keeping Magnus in the middle of their group as they advanced.

Less than a hundred yards further up the street, the hellmist billowed thicker and the sickly smell that it carried assailed the Shadowhunters. The screams were louder now, and roars cut through the haze as well. Alec's heart pounded in his chest, but his hands were steady on his bow as the group sliced through the fog.

Jace had just drawn level with a stopped delivery truck when a vaguely reptilian creature reared up from behind it and shrieked deafeningly, its almost tube-shaped head thrust forward as its toothless mouth gaped open. The Shadowhunters flinched back, but didn't drop their weapons to protect their ears from the assault.

Spinning in low, Jace sliced at the demon with each of his seraph blades in rapid succession, aiming for the clawed hands that dangled under it's stooped frame even as they reached for him. He sheared off the limbs effortlessly and then used the momentum of his spin to propel himself forward into the hump-backed body as the demon threw it's head back to howl in pain. Jace planted his feet firmly just in front of the creature and then slashed upwards viciously to sever it's head just behind it's grotesquely large ear structures.

Jace's eyes flashed as he scanned the street for any more demons in the immediate vicinity, and he was just in time to watch a second creature's spiked back sink to the ground in silence as it clawed at the arrow buried deep in its eye socket. Both bodies began folding in on themselves as they were drawn back to their home dimension.

Alec's lips formed a word, but Jace couldn't hear him. Couldn't hear anything, actually. The quiet was eerie. Alec grabbed the front of his parabatai's jacket and pulled him in close to yell in the ear without a comm piece, his one word barely audible.

 _Destrachan._ Jace nodded in understanding and activated his microphone to warn the others. Primarily a subterranean demon, destrachans used sonic attacks to blast enemies and obstacles alike. _But when's the last time anyone saw one in this dimension,_ he thought to himself. The other groups would do what they could to protect against the attacks, but Jace's group was now, for all intents and purposes, deaf, and it was better to remain so while these dangerous demons were in the field. Communication would only flow in one direction now.

The vampire took point and led them forward now that they no longer had the screams and roars to guide them in. The hellmist began to glow ahead as fires bloomed where cars were turned over and smashed in the street.

They turned a corner and found a group of roughly humanoid demons running down a fleeing crowd of Mundanes. Some of the monsters were skittering ahead on all fours, while others were running upright, towering seven and eight feet tall in the darkness. Wicked black spines bristled down their dark backs, and their maws were split open to reveal jagged teeth as they gleefully pursued their terrified prey. Whatever the Mundanes were seeing must have still been pretty horrifying, even with the natural glamour that surrounded demons in this realm, but even the Shadowhunters wouldn't have been able to identify the hezrou demons on sight. Their kind had not walked this world in centuries. The lead demon's claws shot forward and tore one of the fleeing Mundanes in half, raining blood down into the street.

Arrows streaked out of the hellmist and sank into the deep purple flesh of the demons, runed tips piercing their hides and causing them to whip around to face this new threat.

The demons launched themselves at the Shadowhunters, their maddened howls falling on deafened ears. The stench, however, was thick in the air and made the Nephilim gag in disgust. Their vampire guide vanished into the night.

Marcos closed with one of the demons, his seraph blades weaving dangerously as the hezrou tried to lock its claws around him. His sister side-stepped her attacker and whirled on her brother's instead, slashing at its unprotected back as Marcos changed targets to sink his blades into the now-unbalanced demon that staggered past Carolina.

Jace charged wildly into two of the creatures head-on and jumped at the last moment to send himself flipping over their heads. They spun around, eyes tracking him, but more arrows thumped into them from behind and they looked back at where Alec stood tall under the glow of a streetlight, his bow humming. Jace took advantage of the distraction and scissored his blades savagely at the neck of the hezrou on the right. Its toad-like head fell away and its body began to dissolve even as Jace reversed his grip to stab at the other one.

However, unable to hear and completely focused on the hezrou, the Shadowhunters didn't see the squad of enormous, russet-coloured glabrezu demons that came barrelling out of the hellmist until it was too late. The monsters were nearly fifteen feet tall and their canine faces split into wolfish grins as they joined the fray. They had four arms each, one pair ending in clawed hands, and the other had powerful pincers

The first glabrezu's pincers clicked shut just inches from the back of Jace's neck as he staggered into the hezrou he had been attacking before the untimely arrival of its demonic allies. The creature's flesh oozed with some sort of toxic pus that burned Jace's hands, and he nearly dropped his seraph blades as he hissed soundlessly in pain. Only decades of experience allowed him to duck sideways and roll through the demon's legs to avoid being crushed between the two monsters. He turned awkwardly and swiped his left blade at the hezrou's leg, cutting right through the putrid limb in a spray of ichor.

He tightened his grip on the hilts of his seraph blades as his seared hands protested and then he flipped himself up to his feet from his back, already spinning to avoid the grasping claws of the glabrezu bending over him. From the corner of his eye he saw Magnus' hands glowing a wicked shade of cobalt that he recognized as 'Seriously Pissed-Off Warlock Blue'. The hellmist was making it almost impossible for Magnus to fight, but Jace was certain that he was doing whatever he could to protect the tiny group.

Carolina and Marcos hurtled forward into the new threat, their strikes flowing seamlessly around one another as they carved a path through the forest of demon legs around them. They were boxed in on three sides, but Jace couldn't get to them yet. The circle around the brother and sister surged closed as the many reaching arms of the giant glabrezu shot inward.

Hissing vampires and snarling wolves slammed into the backs of the demons, fangs and claws ripping at vulnerable calves and hamstrings. Black blood gushed out onto the pavement and the demons howled. Heavy pincers whirled around and several landed hard blows on the flanks of werewolves to send them flying backward through storefront windows. Glass shattered around the Downworlders and rained down in a deadly shower. Those who evaded the initial thrust were able to scramble up the bodies of the glabrezu, their claws finding a grip wherever they could. The powerful jaws of the werewolves snapped closed around the deadly limbs to shake them viciously, ripping them from their joints brutally.

A pick-up truck with its bed full of Buenos Aires Shadowhunters came speeding through the fog, headlights squared up on the knot of glabrezu. The Nephilim launched themselves at the demons just as the truck slammed into the great legs and brought the monsters tumbling to the ground.

Seraph blades hacked at the fallen demons, aiming desperately for anything that seemed vital. One of the younger Shadowhunters just missed dodging a pincer, and it clicked shut to sever his leg just below his knee. He screamed hoarsely as he fell, clutching in horror at his stump.

Heedless of his own safety, Magnus charged toward the boy and dragged him backward, trying to get out of the fray. A furious stream of arrows provided cover until Alec's quiver was empty, and then the Consul rushed in, the angelic names of his seraph blades falling on deaf ears. He cut at arms that waved wildly in their death throes, keeping them off his husband and the gravely wounded boy.

Finally, the demons began to crumple and dissolve as even their giant frames proved not to be strong enough to withstand the assault of so many warriors of Heaven. Carolina's eyes were wild as she counted those still standing. Only one missing, but it was the driver of the pick-up truck, and he was disentangling himself from his seat belt and the airbag even as her eyes found him.

Magnus' hands ran over the boy's leg quickly and Marcos swooped down, a stele in hand, to began tracing _irazte_ and _amissio_ runes. Together, they were able to stop the bleeding, even with Magnus' hellmist-weakened magic. The boy's face was ashen under a sheen of sweat. Alec couldn't hear, but Carolina pointed back the way her group had come and ordered one of the others to take the boy to her jeep and evacuate back to the Institute.

There were no more demons left in their immediate vicinity, but smoke was rising deeper in the neighbourhood, and they didn't stop to rest any longer before the group dashed up the street. The werewolves had shaken off the heavy hits from the glabrezu, and the vampires seemed completely unharmed.

Smoke mingled with the hellmist, rising in clouds from fires that blazed down both sides of the street where the demons had taken pleasure in crushing the parked cars. More and more windows were blown out as they advanced further into the destruction zone, and the homes were sickeningly quiet; many of their former occupants were now strewn across the streets or lay dead inside.

Jace's eyes blazed with fury as he unconsciously tallied the casualties. Tonight was an absolute disaster. His grand plan to ambush the demons before they ever reached the city had been utterly destroyed. His mind obsessively tried to figure out what had gone wrong as they pounded across the pavement in search of more monsters in the night. The vampire had said the demons had come up from _under_ the city. He felt sick as he started to piece together their plan.

The demons hadn't been holed up waiting for the daylight hours to pass – they had been making their way to Buenos Aires underground. The destrachan demons would have been perfect for that. His ambush groups hadn't found anything on the Sensors because the demons were already long-since past their defensive line. They had delayed their attack, betting that scouts would be sent north, further thinning the defender's ranks. Jace shook his head in disgust. _What kind of demon plans like this?_

Powerful flood lights high above cut through the swirl of smoke and fog ahead, and the stink of the hellmist grew sharper as it mixed with the scent of fresh blood. The vampires hissed as the group drew closer to the source of the brightness, and the pavement changed to grass under their feet.

A pair of screaming Mundanes careened out of the haze ahead, pursued by another destrachan with it's long claws outstretched to rake them from behind.

Four vampires became a blur as they shot ahead to intervene, and their strong hands slammed the creature's mouth shut before it could screech it's terrible attack at the Shadowhunters. The Night's Children tore it to pieces until it vanished, and the group was able to reach a flattened section of chain-link fence without further challenge.

Inside the fence was what appeared to be a high school soccer field. Brightly-coloured jerseys had become shrouds for bodies that lay broken in death. The bleachers were stained dark with blood and gore from the shredded spectators. At the far end of the field, a knot of remaining demons had cornered the remaining Mundanes against the school.

The werewolves growled dangerously and then pitched forward at a dead run as battle rage overcame their sensibilities. The vampires covered the distance effortlessly, and the Shadowhunters had to force their battered bodies to keep up. Three-quarters of them were wounded, and all of them were splattered with blood and ichor, but these avenging angels weren't finished yet.

The last of the seraph blades sprang to life, and the Nephilim charged in a sweeping line with their weapons held high as they screamed their challenges to try to draw the demons away from their deadly game.

In a tangle of fur and teeth, the werewolves crashed into the hezrou demons while the vampires sprang up gracefully to land high on the glabrezu, avoiding their lethal pincers. The weight of the pack's attack brought the smaller monsters down to where they would be vulnerable to the savage jaws of the wolves. The Shadowhunters waded in and aimed precision strikes at the unprotected legs of the towering glabrezu, jamming seraph blades into the muscled flesh and ripping them out again savagely to inflict as much damage as possible

The demons screeched and hissed as they flailed with their long limbs, but the defenders had learned from the first fight not to risk getting caught by the pincers. Bits of the horrors fell to the grass and faded away as they were cut to pieces by the combined force of the three groups of allies, and soon there was nothing left but a crumpling pile of demon flesh that vanished back into its own dimension along with the last of the hellmist.

The trapped Mundanes had fled as soon as their tormentors had turned away, all save one teenage boy. He stared directly at the group of Shadowhunters as they panted in the night, checking wounds and wiping gore from their faces. The boy's mouth was open as he gazed upon them in wonder, then he fell to his knees and bowed his head, hands clasped to his chest as he began to pray and give thanks for deliverance in fluid Spanish under his breath.

Carolina saw him and broke away from her brother as he finished sketching an _iratze_ across her shoulder. She approached the boy slowly, not wanting to frighten him any more on this blood-soaked night. He raised his head from his prayer as her shadow crossed over him, and he looked up in awe to see her beautiful, fierce face haloed by the floodlights above.

She extended a hand down to him as sirens began to whine in the distance, and he reached up to take it. Carolina pulled him to his feet and then drew him into her arms as she squeezed her eyes shut against the tears that were finally allowed to come. She felt herself shaking as she clutched the teenager tightly and felt his arms come up around her. Comforting _her_. Because the slaughter they had just survived was too horrific to bear alone. It was a grief that had to be shared to be borne. The boy clearly had the Sight; he had seen enough horror tonight to last a lifetime.

Their quick _iratzes_ had already healed their damaged eardrums, and Magnus was readying himself to open a Portal back to the Institute.

Jace turned away from the emotional scene and chucked the shattered remains of his seraph blade into the night as frustration and shame burned through him.

"Jace..." Alec started to say, reaching out a comforting hand to his brother. Jace twisted away.

"Don't. Don't try to tell me it's okay," he said in a voice that shook with anger. The sirens were drawing closer; they had to leave soon.

"You couldn't have predicted this," Alec said firmly.

"I underestimated them," Jace spat. "But they had help. If I wasn't certain of it before, I am now." He pounded his fist into his hand and closed his fingers around it, his eyes burning like molten gold. "We need more fighters."

Alec thought about his empty quiver and the ruined seraph blades of the others. "We need more weapons."

Jace's mouth tightened and his eyes narrowed with rage. "They have a commander, Alec, and I'm going to pay him back in _blood_ for this."


	7. Chapter 7

**7**

" _Emergency response teams are still combing through a Buenos Aires neighbourhood devastated by what appears to be a deadly outbreak of gang violence last night. So far, authorities have been hesitant to classify last night's attack as an act of terrorism, but speculation continues to grow as the death toll rises._

" _A high school soccer field was the backdrop for the worst of the violence, and over two hundred victims have been confirmed dead at the scene. No one has stepped forward yet to claim responsibility for the attack, leading experts to believe that this was not a politically-motivated strike._

" _However, a stunningly similar raid was launched in Cairo, Egypt just minutes after panicked reports began pouring in to police in Buenos Aires. Once again, the authorities have been unable to identify a motive in the killings, which spanned several city blocks and claimed the lives of hundreds of citizens and tourists in the area. An international investigation is being conducted to see if any further connection can be drawn between these two bloody skirmishes, and-"_ Izzy jabbed savagely at the 'mute' button on the television remote, silencing the BBC newscaster who continued to read the teleprompter with feigned concern etched on her face.

She threw the remote back down on one of the two double beds in her and Simon's hotel room. Simon's voice became clearer in the other room, and she crossed the bedroom to look in on him where he was sitting at the desk with his head held miserably in one hand while he spoke into the phone.

"Mari-," he tried to cut in. "Maris-." Simon rolled his eyes at his wife and lifted his head from his hand to point two fingers at his temple and cock back his thumb. She smirked back at him. They had played a death match of rock-paper-scissors-lizard-Spock to determine who had to make _this_ call. They had gone six rounds with six spectacular ties before Simon had lost the seventh round when she played paper on his Spock. Served him right for trying to show off his flawless ability to flash the Vulcan salute.

Izzy slipped up behind the desk chair and worked her strong hands into Simon's shoulders as he let his head thump forward onto the desk. Definitely carrying some tension. He gently banged his forehead off the cheap blotter a few times before he tightened his grip on the handset.

"Marisol!" He finally managed to get her name out.

"What?" She actually sounded affronted.

"For the love of all that's holy, and at this point, all the things that are _un-_ holy, _please_ give me the first sixty seconds of conversational silence you have ever given another human being."

"Wow, Simon. Just wow." He heard her snap her bubblegum in irritation on the other end of the line. "You _suck_ at asking for favours, did you know that?"

Simon ground his knuckles into his eyes as Izzy found a particularly tense knot in his left trapezius muscle and pressed down, sending a wave of painful relief right down to his feet. "I _literally_ haven't even been able to ask you for a favour yet."

"You totally just did. You asked for sixty seconds of conversational silence. I hope you realize that you just wasted the one favour I was going to give you."

"YOU HAVEN'T GIVEN ME THE SIXTY SECONDS YET!" Simon shouted. _Oh yeah,_ Izzy thought, _definitely carrying some tension._

"Relax, Si. You're gonna give yourself an ulcer. Do you have any idea how bad an ulcer can get if you don't do anything about it? I was reading this article in a medical jour-"

"Stress doesn't _give_ you-"

"Yes, it does-"

"MARISOL! I DID NOT CALL YOU TO ARGUE ABOUT ULCERS!" Simon could feel his blood pressure rising. She wouldn't give him an ulcer. Maybe just a nice, relaxing aneurysm.

"Well, then why did you call? I don't have all day, you know. Some of us actually have to _work_."

Simon exhaled slowly while silently counting backwards from ten as Izzy's thumbs kneaded up his neck apologetically. He tried to remember the little girl who had stood so shyly with a sword in her hand at the Academy... right before she had handed his own ass to him. He felt his heart thump harder. Okay... Instead, he focused on the peaceful dream of how different his life might have been if Scarsbury hadn't paired them. No ulcers _or_ aneurysms.

"Um, hello?"

He cleared his throat and then launched into the same spiel he had been giving people ever since he, Izzy, Max, and Rafe had left Wrangel Island. They had decided to start easy, and their first jump had taken them to London, where they had quickly settled in to a hotel. The Lightwoods had good ties to the Institute here, and Simon had stolen an hour to sit quietly and call up his fondest memories of George while Isabelle had spoken privately to the Institute Head. Rafe and Max had disappeared into London's Downworld after swearing up and down to look after each other and stay out of the infamous Devil Tavern, and they hadn't come back since.

The London enclave had promised to say nothing of the Lightwoods' visit to anyone in Idris and had already increased their patrols. They were sympathetic to Alec's plight, and vehemently opposed his unorthodox removal from office. The Shadowhunters here were ready to wholeheartedly support Alec's shadow-Consul plan.

 _Shadow-Consul. That's so cool,_ Simon mused as he wrapped up his pitch with a plea for the Barcelona enclave to stay true to their mandate from Heaven, and to remember that Raziel had never factored in politics when he had forked over the Mortal Instruments and asked normal people to just, you know, save the world. On a regular basis. Including evenings, weekends, _and_ holidays. He had borrowed heavily from his Recruiter speeches to put together the don't-be-idiots warning that he was giving.

"That's so cool!" Marisol echoed his thoughts and he tried to remember if he had actually said 'shadow-Consul' out loud. He was pretty sure he hadn't.

"Sorry, what?" This wasn't the usual reaction to his phone call.

"We get to be, like, rebels! I'm _so_ in! Where should I meet you guys? I've been searching online for the area code on your caller I.D while you've been droning on, and it says you're in London. Are you at the Institute? Do you want me to bring anything?"

Simon fought down a rush of panic. "No!" Deep breaths. Deep, deep breaths. "No. You just... you just stay in Barcelona and make sure your people are extra vigilant."

If eye-rolls actually made noise, Simon was sure that he would have heard one from her end. "Gee, ya _think?_ Just tell Alec that we'll be ready when he needs us – shoot us a fire message when it's time to _fight!_ And I'll start harassing the Downworlders in the meantime."

"Uh, Mari, ' _harassing'_ is not a great choice of-"

"It's fine, trust me. I'm really good at it. They'll be ready to fight, too, okay? I promise."

 _More like ready to leave the country_ , Simon thought uncharitably.

"I believe you," he said sincerely. "Take care of yourself."

"Yeah, yeah. You too, Lewis." The connection dropped and Simon held the handset out to look at it for a moment. _Lewis, Lovelace, Lightwood... I never even had to get new monogrammed towels._ Not that he _had_ monogrammed towels... but he had agreed to take Isabelle's last name when they had gotten married. It had seemed really important to her, and he had grieved for George long enough, but sometimes it felt like no one remembered that he was a Lightwood now. Sort of.

"That went better than I thought it would," Isabelle said in his ear, snapping him back to reality. Simon grimaced theatrically.

"Probably because you were just picturing a smoking heap of clothes and a melted phone when you came to check if I was still alive," he said in an aggrieved voice.

"Nonsense. You're amazing at this." She kissed him on the cheek affectionately and picked up the list of contacts they had put together. Her loopy script contrasted sharply with his uneven printing, but many of the names still remained. The next one was Maia Velasquez.

Izzy pursed her lips and picked up the phone to start dialing.

"Hey, I thought you said I was amazing at this," Simon protested.

"You are, but _I'll_ be the one calling any ex-girlfriends on the list. Go get something to eat."

Simon had had a lot of experience reading his wife's expressions, and her face clearly said that any further protest would be both unnecessary and unsuccessful. However, he was also smart enough not to leave the hotel room, so he settled for feeding a coffee pod into the single-cup coffee maker in the room. Coffee counted as food. Sort of.

"Hey, Maia, it's Isabelle Lightwood," he heard her say. "Oh, you know, everything's great except for that whole Alicante-blowing-up thing. That's kind of what I'm calling about."

Simon stared intently at the ceramic mug. He knew how hard Izzy was struggling to keep it together. They had both been terrified for Hunter, but at least Simon didn't have that deep-rooted connection to Alicante that all born-Shadowhunters had. He'd talked to Clary earlier, and apparently Hunter was awake and walking around a bit now. She had sounded optimistic on the phone, but the two of them had been connected on a far deeper level even before they had become parabatai. Something was still wrong. So he had put on his best smile and told Izzy that Hunter was getting better. Sometimes a lie was better than the truth if the truth was left unspoken. Clary would do everything she could for their kids.

The coffee sputtered to a drip and then stopped, leaving a perfect cup of joe ready for him. He sighed contentedly. Coffee shouldn't be able to make someone so happy.

He sipped at it and returned to where Izzy was sitting on the desk with one long leg tucked under her and the other propped up against his vacated chair. Simon eased back down into his spot and caught her foot as she started to make room for him. Fair was fair. He started rubbing the arch of her foot and she let her head fall back with her eyes closed while she listened to whatever Maia was saying. _Simon Lightwood, Lady Slayer,_ he thought smugly. Not as cool as shadow-Consul, though... he'd have to work on it.

"Yeah, I know," Izzy said breathlessly before she caught herself. "I need you and Bat to talk to Lily." She paused for a moment. "Because I have, like, a million other people to call." Another pause. "Okay, yeah, and because I don't want to listen to her 'I-told-you-so' speech. I'll owe you one."

Simon worked his way up to Izzy's calf, his hands sliding her jeans up to bare the lacy network of faded rune scars that criss-crossed her skin. He traced the particularly jagged scar that she had gotten in Edom, the one he had healed with his vampiric blood when _iratze_ runes had failed. He squeezed gently, working carefully as he massaged the shapely curve of her leg and marvelled at how lucky he was to still have her after all these years. There had been some seriously close calls, but that was part of the price he was willing to pay to be married to a warrior-goddess. _Warrior-goddess_. _Damn it. Everyone else gets way cooler titles._

"Get the word out through the Praetorians, Maia. I've already been Alderaan-ed once this week, and I'm not going to sit around and wait for my other home to be demolished, too. New York stands, okay?" She waited for Maia's assurance, and then she nodded unconsciously. "We'll be in touch." Izzy hung up the phone and then turned her dark eyes slyly back to Simon as her lips curled up into a seductive grin. In the category of wifely expressions that he could read, this was one of his favourites.

" _You_ are being _very_ distracting," she accused as she curled her ankle over his shoulder and reeled the desk chair toward her. She unfolded her other leg and hooked it in under his arm.

Inspired by the locale, Simon adopted a gravelly English accent. "Lord Montgomery does not _distract_. He _seduces._ " He reached up to pull Izzy down into his lap as she giggled helplessly. Alicante was destroyed, demons were possibly rampaging around the globe, and maybe the world was ending, but this... this was why they did what they did. Simon breathed in Izzy's perfume and stretched to kiss her deeply. They risked their lives to protect the humans every day so that the Mundane Lord Montgomerys of the world could freely ravish their buxom wenches in blissful ignorance.

Izzy's hands slid up his back and he could feel the smile on her lips as she kissed him. "Mmm... my _Lord,_ " she whispered. His heart started racing. Only Izzy could still make him feel like a teenager after all these years... awkward, clumsy, and nervous.

"By the _Angel,_ " Rafe's voice shattered the moment. "I thought father was _joking_ about the romance-novel slave thing."

Mortified, Izzy disentangled herself from Simon and stood facing her nephew, eyes flashing. "Rafael Santiago Lightwood, tell me _right now_ that my brother did _not_ say the words 'romance-novel slave' to you."

"Oooh, are they doing the Lord Montgomery thing?" Max said dreamily as he came through the hotel room door behind his brother. "I've always thought that was _so_ romantic."

Simon's face could not possibly have gotten any more red, but Izzy's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Alec had better _pray_ that the demons get to him before I do."

Rising from the chair, Simon took his glasses off and nervously cleaned them with the hem of his shirt. "So, uh, what did you guys manage to turn up?"

Rafe didn't even bother to conceal his grin. "London's Downworld is impressive." His brother nodded happily in agreement and added, "This was a great place to get started! I think we've got a lot of people moving in the right direction. They're going to help spread the word."

"Many have heard of Buenos Aires and Cairo already," Rafe said in a more sombre tone, his mirth wiped away by the tragedy in his birth city. "They do not wish to suffer the same losses."

"And everyone we talked to still supports dad as Consul no matter what happened in Alicante." Max's mouth turned up in a wistful smile. "They won't forget what he did for Downworlders. The idea that he sent his own sons to ask them for help seemed to strike many of them as respectful, and we made sure that they know that he's still out there fighting for them."

Izzy's indignation faded when she saw the sincerity in Max's blue features. She pulled him into a hug impulsively. "We're all fighting, Max. Maybe not with weapons, not yet, but we're in this fight, too. We'll be together again, soon."

Simon frowned as he checked his glasses for any remaining spots and then settled them back into place as he muttered darkly, "And then we get to _murder_ your brother together, right?"

Izzy smiled widely over Max's head and nodded.

"Yes, dear."

"Hunter, you won't believe this," Aspen said with forced cheerfulness in her voice as she rummaged through the cupboards in the cabin's tiny kitchen.

Her parabatai's dark head turned toward her so that she could see his ashen face again. His blue eyes looked watery and tired, but he gave her the ghost of a smile. "Believe what?"

She triumphantly held up a dented can of tomato soup and Hunter couldn't help but burst out laughing. It only lasted for a few moments before he coughed and then started wheezing and gasping for breath. Aspen dropped the can and crossed the room in a heartbeat to kneel at his side where she could only rub his back impotently and silently berate herself for setting him off again.

When the fit had subsided, he looked at her miserably. "I'm so sorry, Asp," he whispered. She leaned forward weakly, feeling drained once more.

"It's not your fault. It's mine." She reached over to lace her fingers into his and then let her head fall to his shoulder. "I messed up big time."

His fingers tightened on hers and she felt him shake his head. "You saved my life," he whispered fiercely. "Do you hear me? Saved. My life."

"To live like this instead?" Aspen replied bitterly.

"You just have to give it time." Hunter closed his eyes to rest for a moment and then snored gently, all thoughts of lunch forgotten.

A flare of blue light through the window startled her, but then her heart lurched. _Izzy!_ The door opened slowly to admit a man and a woman each fully geared in winter clothes, complete with goggles. Aspen slid sideways unconsciously to shield Hunter. These weren't his parents. Her mom was out at the wards again with Helen and Aline looking for any sign of a breach to pass on to Alec.

The man reached up and lifted his goggles up to rest on his hat, revealing gentle, gold-flecked dark eyes that held a wisdom too vast for a man who appeared to only be in his mid-forties. He unwound his heavy scarf and then pushed the hat and goggles off to shake his grey-streaked hair free. One particularly thick band of silver shot through his black waves, but the grey was beginning to catch up, and it wouldn't be long until it overtook the brightness.

The young woman had shucked off her gloves and copied her partner's movements, letting down a spill of thick, wavy brown hair in the process. Her blue-grey eyes were warm as her gaze fell on the two teenagers, but sad as she saw the state they were in.

"Aspen," she said in a soft voice. The girl felt a twinge of recognition.

"Tessa?"

The half-warlock nodded. They had only met a few times before, but mostly when Aspen had been much younger. The man was her husband, Jem Carstairs, who was quietly famous for having served as a Silent Brother for over a century before being accidentally released by Aspen's father when heavenly fire had flowed through his veins. His mortality had returned and he had begun aging once more. As there had never been a precedent set for a Silent Brother reverting back to a human Shadowhunter, he had chosen to retire from active service after the Dark War.

"Magnus called and asked us to come, but it took us a while to reach Catarina for a Portal," Tessa explained. "Where are the others?"

Aspen rose and gently lifted her hand away from Hunter's. He hadn't even stirred when the door had opened. She flipped a heavy switch by the front door and saw a bright beacon of witchlight come to life on a tall pole outside. Helen and Aline used it to signal each other if one of them was out working on the sites, or as a guiding light back to the safety of the cabin during bad weather. They would see it and return to check why it had been turned on. "They'll come back soon," she promised the newcomers.

She helped take their coats and hang them on the pegs near the door, then rustled up some of Helen's hand-made heavy knitted slippers for them to pull on. Jem and Tessa settled themselves into the loveseat as Aspen began making a batch of hot chocolate. The others would definitely appreciate it; they had been gone for a couple of hours now. Even allowing for warm-ups in the bunker, that was a long time to be trudging around out there.

Soon enough, the door swung open again to admit the three women, and this time Hunter woke up as Clary gasped upon seeing Tessa. She kicked off her boots and threw her arms around her friend as the woman rose gracefully from the couch. "Tessa," she whispered gratefully.

Once everyone was properly blanketed and the blaze in the wood stove had been refreshed, Aspen passed out mugs of hot chocolate to the thankful group. Hunter wrapped his hands around the mug and sipped at it appreciatively.

"Allow us to apologize for arriving unannounced," Jem began in his quiet voice. "But Magnus told us that we could be of urgent assistance here. He said there was an unplanned parabatai pairing, and he thought I might be able to offer some insight."

"And I understand that you have some demonic runes on one of the newer sites that might need a look?" Tessa offered. "I spent many years studying in the Spiral Labyrinth after the Uprising. Perhaps I have learned something that might help."

Helen and Aline exchanged relieved looks. They were finally going to get the help they had been denied by the Council. It was a pity that it had only taken the destruction of Alicante to accomplish that. All kinds of barriers were coming down now that the Shadowhunters were in free-fall.

"Can you tell me whatever you can remember about that night, Aspen? Any detail, no matter how small." Jem's eyes were kind and encouraging. Bolstered by his quiet strength and the hot chocolate, she began to tell her story haltingly, stumbling over the intense emotions that came back to overwhelm her once more. The flash of terror when the first explosion had gone off and thrown her heavy wardrobe down on Hunter, the riptide of fear as the flames had raced up her walls and turned her bedroom into an inferno. She remembered the mind-numbing panic that had gripped her outside when she had seen the blood leaking from his mouth and nose.

When it came time to describe the desperation that had filled her heart and caused her to take up her mother's stele to draw the _parabatai_ rune, her voice faltered.

"I... I don't know what I was thinking. Every cell in my body was screaming for him to stay with me. I thought that being parabatai would make us stronger together, and I was praying that if the rune would just hold, I would be strong enough for both of us." Tears shimmered in her eyes. "But I'm _not_. I ruined everything."

Jem set his mug aside and left the loveseat to kneel beside her and take her hands in his own. "Aspen, you suffer from the Herondale curse of taking the weight of the world onto your shoulders and still believing that you aren't doing enough." His dark eyes held hers steadily and she felt her tears spill over at last as she fell forward onto his chest and took solace that he understood the deepest pain in her heart.

She cried to release all the guilt and fear that had been eating her up from inside. She let her frustration burn down her face in hot streaks as her shoulders shook with sobs. Her worry and doubt ebbed as Jem's arms came up around her and he allowed her to just let everything out.

When Aspen drew back at last, sniffling, she had left dark stains on the former Silent Brother's shirtfront, but she couldn't believe how much better she felt already. She was embarrassed to have had an audience for her breakdown, but the others were doing what they could to give her a modicum of privacy. Her mother was conversing quietly with Tessa while Helen and Aline listened attentively. Aspen looked back over her shoulder and saw tears in Hunter's eyes, not for himself, but for seeing her in pain.

Jem squeezed her shoulders reassuringly. "You and your parabatai survived a fiery trial unlike any other pair has ever faced, Aspen, and you did it alone. We will get to the bottom of this mystery and make you both well again, I promise."

She nodded earnestly as he continued, "Take some time to gather yourself, and then I will begin testing you both in small ways to begin feeling out your parabatai bond."

Aspen felt a flash of anxiety at his words, but covered it by ducking her head to hide her face behind her tangle of blond hair. Deep inside, she knew that she was not the same as she had been before she had bonded Hunter, but she hadn't told anyone yet. Saying it out loud might make it more real, and she wasn't ready to face it yet. If she was right, Jem would find out soon enough.

The four women had decided to brave the cold once more to take Tessa out to the newest site where it was defaced with demonic runes, and they bundled back into their heavy coats with sighs of regret. The cabin had gotten pleasantly warm while they had been talking and the hot chocolate in their bellies was making a nap sound awfully good. But a sense of urgency was chewing at Clary. Everything felt like it was clicking into place.

As Tessa tucked the ends of her scarf down into her jacket, she sighed regretfully. "I only wish the Council had approved something like this sooner. The Silent Brothers, the Spiral Labyrinth... who knows what we could have learned?"

Clary shook her head slowly. "No. I think it's all happening now for a reason, Tessa. I feel like it's all connected, and we just need to understand all of the pieces to fit them together." Her clear green gaze locked onto Tessa's steely blue-grey eyes. "I just pray that we can solve it before it's too late."

Everett slammed his fist down on the Consul's desk in frustration once more. Every attempt that he had made to track Seraphine Lark with the few strands of hair he had ripped from her had been useless. She was always either working in the temporary infirmary that had been set up in a warehouse near the canals or she just vanished entirely, completely untraceable. He suspected that she had protected her lair with enchantments that made it impossible to track her there. Not a single glimpse of Sera in any of his spying.

A knock at his door snapped him out of his brooding. "Come!" he barked.

A bone-white face appeared around the edge of his door, blending seamlessly upward into ribbed antelope horns that added an extra foot and a half to the figure's already tall, slender frame. The warlock was wrapped in red Council robes that made Everett sick to see, but as Downworlders went, this one and his twin brother were more tolerable than most as they didn't seem to have any particular interest in political double-dealing. Kai and Kaden Drake were the current warlock representatives sharing a seat on the Council, ever since Magnus Bane had resigned his position, citing a conflict of interest when Alec had ascended to Consul. His eyes flicked upward to check the tips of the warlock's horns; one was broken off. Kai, then.

The warlock's pale blue eyes peered out from his grotesque face as he studied the new Consul curiously.

"What do you want, warlock?" Everett asked shortly.

"My brother and I have, in the absence of alternate orders, continued to watch over the maps monitoring dark magic and runic Portal activity, Consul," he answered in a raspy voice. "We have always reported any irregularities directly. Will you follow me so that we may show you our findings?"

At the mention of Portal activity Everett froze. _This could be just what I need_ , he thought.

He followed the warlock out of the Consul's office and descended to the second floor where the great map room had been set up. Years and years ago, the map that covered the east wall and tracked dark magic had been successfully used to uncover a sinister plot executed by a rogue warlock. Only a few years newer, the map stretched over the west wall showed Portal activity when they were created by Clary Herondale's Portal rune. It was only supposed to be used in emergency situations, or with the Clave's permission, but that girl (and several others, who had been appropriately punished) still used it indiscriminately. _Impertinent._

Kaden was waiting for them at the west wall, where he was making a careful entry into a log book there.

"What have you found?" Everett asked.

"It's all here, Consul," Kaden said, his raspy voice as identical to his brother's as his face. "A Portal originating in Toronto and terminating in Las Vegas. Another from Las Vegas to Singapore and back. The next was from Las Vegas to Prague and back, and then again to Los Angeles. This is more activity than we typically see, particularly when they share overlapping points of origin each time. It seemed unreasonable to believe that a single Shadowhunter would be strong enough to consistently use such a powerful rune so frequently, so we wanted to confirm that you had authorized the Las Vegas enclave to engage in this much Portal activity, Consul."

 _Toronto._ _Las Vegas._ Entries from Sera's dream diary swirled in his mind. Looks like Lady Luck had gone home, but she was up to something.

Kai and Kaden were watching him expectantly for an answer and he nodded jerkily. "Yes, of course they have authorization. Continue to monitor and log the Portals. I may need to confirm their movements as their investigation proceeds." He turned on his heel to hide his smile. _Got you!_

A Shadowhunter poked his head into the room and caught sight of him at once. "Consul!" he called. _Raziel, can't I get a moment of peace?_

Everett rearranged his features into a blank smile and beckoned for the man to join him. He looked familiar. A Cartwright, maybe? The warlock twins pretended to busy themselves at the maps while listening intently.

The man saluted briefly before beginning his report. "Buenos Aires and Cairo have been hit _hard_ by demon attacks, Consul. There are hundreds of Mundane casualties between the two cities and their Shadowhunters were badly beaten. They need reinforcements and support to shore up their ranks until the wounded are back in fighting form, sir."

Everett's eyes widened as he listened and he was shaken by the news. The warnings had been right. He would need to make sure that no one knew that he had dismissed the message from Wrangel Island. Reluctantly, he decided that he would need to act on the next tip-off, if there was one.

He was still hesitant to pull active Shadowhunters out of the city, though. The warlocks had evacuated so many of them that now Alicante was utterly defenseless if the Fey came to attack and finish what they had started.

"Send a message to the Scholomance," he said with a slight tremor in his voice. "Have them deploy Centurions to fill in the gaps until the cities are re-stabilized." It was a neat solution to the problem; the cities would be grateful to receive elite soldiers, and Alicante would not be weakened any further.

Cartwright saluted again and ducked back out as Everett's mind returned to Sera. He could find her now, he was certain; it would only be a matter of time. But he had to be careful. And he needed to be ready to contain her once he managed to catch her. She had already broken out of the deep cells once with apparent ease, right under the watchful eyes of two Centurions. She was dangerous, no question, and cagey. But the Clave had imprisoned Shadowhunters before, and they had always found ways to hold criminals who didn't fit the mold. A prison cell covered in Jewish holy symbols was a testament to that.

An idea started to take shape in his mind and he turned back to the pair of warlocks who were no longer bothering to mask their curiosity.

"Gentlemen," Everett said with a wide smile. "I wonder if you might be interested in a _unique_ undertaking. I have a _very_ specific assignment for you."

He could barely contain his excitement when the brothers began nodding thoughtfully as he outlined his needs. To narrow down where she lived, he would put in a call to Las Vegas to see if they knew anything about someone who could see the future. She couldn't stay hidden forever.

** _Author's note:_

 _Relive the magic of Lord Montgomery, CoHF p.205 XD_

 _Thanks again Tara for NAMING ALL THE THINGS and giving Kai and Kaden their names._

 _I hope you guys enjoyed the double dose of EotC in a 24-hour period. If you can believe it, all of Ch 6 and 7 was planned as a single chapter... but I think I already sin horribly enough with long chapters. I'm going camping/canoeing for the Canada Day long weekend, so I'll be off the grid for a bit. If I don't get eaten by bears (or moose, or bloodthirsty beavers), I'll hopefully get back at it next week. Thanks for your patience, keep voting and sharing to grow the adventure!_


	8. Chapter 8

**8**

Sera tossed restlessly in her sleep.

Her fingers knotted in the white cotton sheets of her bed before relaxing once more. She rolled over to her shoulder, her arm flung out searchingly to the empty side of the bed. Her eyes flitted fervently under her eyelids as she drank in the nightmare laid out before her in the world of dreams.

 _Rayce descended on his fiery black steed from a swirling tempest of storm winds, aiming for a battlefield. He clutched at the reins desperately to keep them in hand but they threatened to tear out of his control with each new lash of wind. A heavy black blindfold was tied around his eyes, and it contrasted sharply with the white splash of his hair._

 _Howling shadows surrounded him in the gale and nipped at his cloak hungrily, but he twisted and fought his way free until he could land among the bodies of the slain._

 _Parched fields were flattened and torn haphazardly by the passage of clawed feet, and dozens of Mundanes lay amidst the stalks waving lazily in the wind. A man who couldn't have been more than thirty years old was sprawled at Rayce's feet when the Faerie steed vanished. Sera's brow furrowed in her sleep as she saw the tiny girl buried in the man's arms. His flannel shirt was a splash of red that only partially disguised the horrible gouges that had brought his life to end as he tried to protect his daughter from the monsters that had come in the night. The vision was so stunningly vivid that Sera put a hand to her head to steady herself and closed her eyes; wherever this was, it was going to happen soon. Not now, but soon._

 _When she looked up again she found Rayce crouching down at the man's side, oblivious to the blindfold he wore. The Hunters around him laughed and taunted him from every side as he reached out toward the man's body. His fingers skimmed over the red flannel until he jerked his hands back from the razor wire he couldn't see, and blood welled up from the cuts._

 _One of the Hunters lunged forward to finally tear the blindfold away from Rayce's eyes, and Sera's heart sank when she saw the mixture of contempt and confusion in his gaze. The trampled crops had faded to allow the spectre of Alicante to loom up from a field of twisted trees with lush foliage. As Rayce watched, the shadows around him hissed under their breath and he saw the Glass City erupt into flames. The haunting forest shuddered and shed its leaves in shock from the expenditure, and understanding filled Rayce's eyes. The winding, snaking roots of the trees crept through the farmers' fields in search of new victims to replenish its energy, but Rayce whirled away from the fallen man and stomped his foot down to crush one trailer as it approached._

 _The Hunters shook their heads and muttered mutinously, but Rayce snarled and barked orders at them. Without a backward glance, he stormed away from the slaughter and left the shadows murmuring behind him. He didn't see the dark cloud coalesce over him to throw a swath of menacing darkness over his path that whispered of pain and suffering._

 _A deafening clang ripped across the dreamscape and Sera screamed, clapping her hands over her ears even as Rayce faded from view ahead of her. The discordant cacophony echoed thickly across the fields, sweeping up the Hunters like bugs under a broom, and Sera willed herself forward to be carried with them deeper into the nightmare._

 _In a flash, her vision changed and hurtled her deep underground to an unfamiliar, indistinct cavern. The rubble of a shattered stone table lay scattered across the floor carelessly where it had been broken in haste to reveal a faintly-glowing depression in the dark stone beneath. The Unseelie King sat heavily at the edge of the flickering light and breathed shallowly as a courtier waited patiently by his side. His attendant had dark green skin and hair, and yellow eyes glowed out of a face that scowled under a crown of branches._

 _Rayce stalked into the room haughtily, his cloak billowing out behind him in his haste, and the two Unseelie snapped their gazes up to take in the brash youth in front of them. The Shadowhunter's face was angry as he hurtled accusations at the King, and Sera shook her head in mute horror as Rayce's voice strangled to a whisper and his hands flew to his throat._

 _Grinning wickedly, the yellow-eyed Faerie drew what appeared to be a stone made of blood from within his rich robes. He cast it down onto the stone floor and a tree shot up crookedly, impossibly, from the rock._

 _Against his will, Rayce was dragged toward the trunk by an invisible force until the sorcerer could lash his wrists to a branch overhead as the prince struggled futilely. The cloak fell away from his shoulders and Sera felt her heart leap into her throat with hope, but it was quickly dashed as Rayce remained bound and the Faerie tore away the dark tunic that had lain under the great mantle._

 _A silver whip materialized in the courtier's hand and Sera cried out, running forward to throw herself across Rayce's back as the Unseelie King nodded wearily for his attendant to continue. The lash cracked down through Sera's incorporeal form and carved a bloody path across the pale back laid bare under her. She was powerless to stop it, but unwilling to let him suffer alone._

 _With tears sliding down her face, she slid around in front of him and cupped her hands around his neck, bending forward until their foreheads touched and she could reach up with her thumbs to stroke his cheeks under his tightly-clenched eyes. His body bucked under her touch as the whip came down once more and the Faerie paused, prompting Rayce with words Sera couldn't hear._

 _She watched her prince for a response, and saw his lips form the word, 'two' with rage simmering across his features. Her chest heaved in panic as the lash came down again and she saw him mouth, 'three' as his fingernails dug into the unnatural wood, but her terror only mounted further when she looked up to see a man dressed all in scarlet who was nearly identical to Rayce. He smiled darkly as the fourth bloody line opened across a once-smooth back. The man saw Sera watching and winked at her before turning around and unzipping the red jacket to slide it down and bare the pattern of weals across his own back as he looked over his shoulder at Sera. He grinned widely and then stepped toward Rayce, fading as he did so, until he vanished into the Shadowhunter._

 _Rayce's eyes widened in surprise at the intrusion and he gasped when he saw her staring at him, his mouth sagging open in disbelief. She tried to scream his name but she found herself mute, and she faded away even as she threw her head back to howl in frustration._

 _The dream blurred slightly, and when it cleared, Rayce was laying wrapped up in his cloak on the cavern floor, shivering. His right hand twitched as it curved around her mother's stele, holding on to it like it was a talisman against the darkness both within and without._

What?

 _Sera blinked, but the dream shut her out and dimmed, threatening to toss her back into the waking world entirely if she allowed herself to be so distracted again._

 _Her vision shifted and she was briefly disoriented before she found herself on a familiar underground boulevard in front of the window of a bookshop piled high with ancient tomes. Inside, Zeke and Cassius were banging their hands against the glass frantically and shouting at her as the entire Rift flickered in and out of existence._

 _Unable to hold onto such a tenuous grip, Sera's dream cast her out. The Land Under the Hill was a blind-spot for her, but the Rift lay neither within the realm of Man nor Fey, and so she was left uncertain of what was happening there._

 _She felt the inexorable pull of her world as she found herself untethered to a dream, and she floated upward through the layers of sleep until she felt her chest rise under the thin sheet when she drew in a deep breath of relief. In the last moment before sleep fled entirely, she heard a long scream and saw a_ parabatai _rune wreathed in crackling flames._

Sera's eyes slipped open, breaking the faint crust of dried tears that clung to her eyelashes. _Parabatai_. _Aspen..._ Sera tried to chase the afterimage of the rune on the back of her eyelids to look for more, but nothing came. Not enough.

A wave of guilt crashed through Sera as she remembered her promise to Clary. It felt like ages ago that she had seen those first flashes of the girl's future. She recalled Steven's warning about looking so hard for a way to free Rayce that she might be blinding herself to everything else going on around her. Sera glanced at the clock on her bedside table in the early morning light and sighed; she had to get moving, but she vowed to make a concerted effort to trace something, _anything_ , about Aspen later that night when she got back.

After a quick shower and a few phone calls, Sera had shaken away some of the fear from her nightmare. She understood enough about reading her dreams to guess that Rayce was going to learn the truth about what had happened to Alicante, and he wasn't going to like it. He would unknowingly answer the Unseelie King's summons and then... Her hands shook as she pulled her hair back into a ponytail. _No. I can stop it._

Her mind drifted back to the sight of her mother's stele in Rayce's hand. _How was it possible?_ She pulled open her closet and rummaged around on the floor near the back for the battered pack that had come with her from the cottage in the woods all those years ago. Sure enough, the stele was still tucked into the side pocket. Sera pulled it out and sat back, rolling it between her fingers. It wasn't something she had ever needed, not with her gift, but _Rayce..._ She stroked the smooth _adamas_ and traced its curve thoughtfully. _But he had his own stele_ , she thought to herself, her eyes flicking down to look at the faded scar of a Sleep rune on her forearm. _Unless something's happened to it._

Puzzled, she decided to mull it over until she could understand how the pieces of the puzzle fit together. She had to find a way to warn him about the Unseelie King before it was too late.

 _But first_ , she sighed, as she wiggled into a pair of jean shorts and pulled a white tank top over her head. She laced up a pair of hiking boots and grabbed a Toronto Blue Jays hat from the back of her door before slipping on a pair of dark sunglasses.

A taxi honked outside and she slung her satchel over her shoulder, brushed a quick glamour rune on, then scooted out the door to catch a ride into the city.

One of the great things about Las Vegas was that there was no shortage of available charter helicopter rides to the Grand Canyon. It hadn't taken long to find a pilot and guide combo who were willing to fly her out to the coordinates on the map she had emailed herself from Mark Blackthorn's kitchen. Once they had started negotiating a price, she had gotten the distinct impression that there was going to be a very disappointed golden-years couple getting a cancellation phone call after she hung up.

The chopper was ready to go when she reached the landing pad, and a well-built, tanned guy in his twenties with spiked-up black hair hopped out to shake her hand and yell, "Mike!" in her ear as he helped her up into the seat behind the pilot. She slipped a pair of heavy earphones over her ears and adjusted the mic after strapping in to the harness.

They lifted off smoothly and were soon slicing eastward across the clear blue sky into the sunrise. When prompted by Mike, she fished her tablet out of the satchel and called up the map to hand over to him. He relayed the information to the pilot, received a thumbs-up, and then settled back to study her with his dark eyes while she pretended not to notice, distracting herself with the desert landscape below.

"So what all are you lookin' for out there, girlie?" Mike asked over the headset. She mentally kicked herself for not toning down her appearance more.

"There should be an unusual rock formation that looks like an eye somewhere around those co-ordinates. I need to get down to the canyon floor there to search for a cavern entrance." Sometimes the truth was good enough.

Mike whistled and grinned speculatively. "Sounds pretty out there, babe. Where'd you get an idea like this?"

 _From a tortured half-Faerie Shadowhunter with a bit of supernatural PTSD, thanks for asking,_ Sera thought sarcastically. "Extreme geo-caching," she lied. "I'm in a competition with a bunch of people." Maybe sometimes, lies were better.

"Wow, that's wild!" He kept the same shit-eating grin plastered across his face and Sera could honestly start to feel him mentally undressing her. She willed the helicopter to move faster. Maybe Mike needed to fall into a crevice. Accidentally.

Sera lost track of time, and was surprised when the pilot announced that they were over the north rim of the Canyon, and she had better start looking for what she was trying to find.

The helicopter swept out over the area and Sera scanned the cliffs carefully. She surreptitiously pressed a Far-Sight rune into her forearm and narrowed her eyes as her vision sharpened. She felt like a hawk searching for prey at this height, so she asked the pilot to go lower. He grumbled about laws that prohibited him from flying within 1,500ft of the rim, but he did his best to toe the line while they searched.

Sera was deeply annoyed when it was Mike who spotted a series of three pillars that, when seen from the right angle, lined up to form the shape of an eye from a distance. He unstrapped his harness and leaned forward over Sera to tap the pilot on the shoulder and point out his discovery.

The pilot nodded, but then twisted to look back at Sera while speaking into the headset, "Strictly speaking, I shouldn't land anywhere near there, sweetheart."

"Strictly speaking, I shouldn't triple your pay, but we all make our own choices, don't we?" Sera responded sweetly.

Mike clapped the pilot on the shoulder excitedly and they dipped downward. It was agreed that he would drop them off and then go land somewhere slightly more legal to wait for their return. Once they touched down, Mike tossed a bag of gear out the door and turned to help Sera out of her seat just as she slid past him and dropped lightly to the rocky ledge with dust swirling wildly around her in the vortex created by the helicopter's blades.

He jumped out as well and pulled her down toward the ground as the pilot lifted off again. Sera kept her eyes tightly closed as the grit lashed at them and then dissipated as the noise from the chopper retreated.

When the dust was settling once more, Mike stood up, taking his arm away from her shoulders just a little too slowly. "You ever climbed before, babe?"

"Yeah, a little," she replied coolly. _Probably should have vetted my options for creep-factor_ , she commiserated silently.

He grinned again and then pulled out a climbing harness for her from his gear bag. She slipped her feet through the loops and hiked up the belt, but then Mike was there, his fingers moving confidently over the straps as he tightened them in place for her. The harness snugged over her hips comfortably as he completely filled her personal space bubble, his breath warming the side of her neck as he looked down to make one final adjustment and double-back on the buckles. _God, he probably gets off on this._

As he began tying the first figure-eight knot, Sera focused on pleasant thoughts of breaking his fingers if he tried anything with her. She lost track of everything he was doing, and had to take his word on it when he pronounced them ready to belay down to the canyon floor. Speed was important; it would be a lot easier if they weren't spotted by any park rangers, and the chopper had already been a big red flag if anyone had been watching.

Once Mike was braced and gave her the all-clear nod, Sera took a deep breath and leaned back over the edge carefully as she let some rope through her guide hand and started walking backwards. Getting past the lip was always the worst part. Once over, she picked up speed and rappelled down smoothly, expertly avoiding patches of scrub and outcroppings.

Mike joined her minutes later after his own descent. High above them now, the eye formation was indistinguishable, but Sera had marked their position before dropping into the canyon. She took the lead and glided forward, unconsciously taking on the predatory stalk of a Shadowhunter on a mission.

The entrance to the underground cavern network was nearly hidden, cleverly concealed between a split in the rocks, but knowing where to look was a huge advantage in the vast expanse of the canyon, and this time Sera didn't need Mr. Eagle-Eye to spot it for her.

Cool air wafted up from the darkness within, and Mike stopped short, scratching nervously at the back of his neck. "You're not seriously going in there, are you?"

Sera could feel a touch of the dread that had lain over the entrance to the Rift, and she understood what was holding him back, but she came from a lot better stock than he did, and she wasn't going to stop here.

"Yeah, but you can stay here, or wait back at the rope if you want." She saw his manly pride warring with his justifiable fear, and she decided to make it easier for him. "I don't know if I'll get disqualified from the competition if someone helps me get all the way to the cache, but I don't want to risk it after coming all this way, okay?"

He nodded gratefully and unslung a coil of rope from his shoulder to hand over. "Take this, just in case, okay?"

Sera accepted the bundle with good grace and took a pair of powerful glow-sticks from his gear bag to stuff into her back pockets. She'd just have to get back before they expired, which would be no trouble if each one lasted 12 hours as advertised. She definitely did not intend to be down here that long. Cracking the first one to bring it to life, she gave Mike a jaunty wave and turned to push through the first line of defense around an entrance to Faerie.

The yellow illumination pouring from the glow-stick in her hand washed over the rock walls around her as she passed and cast eerie shadows that skittered ahead of her to melt back into the darkness ahead. She thought back to the tunnels of Cadair Idris and wished that she could have Rayce at her side for just a minute. Those had been their last hours together before everything had fallen apart.

Despair crept in around the edges of her memories of him and she felt the weight of her search for answers begin to press down on her. She felt like she had come so far and achieved so little. How long could she keep running like this? How long would she have to chase each crumb of a clue? And if she could be very honest with herself in the quietest part of her heart, she wondered how long she had before she lost what made him Rayce. Whatever was happening to him in Faerie was hardening him into someone else, and she hated it.

A wave of sadness choked a surprised sob from her throat as she realized that tears were streaming freely down her cheeks. _When did that happen?_ She looked around at the cavern where the walls bowed and twisted upward in fantastic patterns. The heaviness in her heart pulled down at her so that she could feel her grief as a nearly palpable sensation in the half-light, and she forced herself to stop moving forward and _think._

The hair on the back of her neck started to lift and her eyes widened in fear as she looked down and saw goosebumps rising along her arms. Sera clenched her teeth and focused on breathing evenly while she summoned peaceful thoughts. _Fear isn't the only defense this entrance has_ , she told herself. She was starting to wonder exactly just how powerful Veralysia might be, and if she might be the source of the bleakness in her thoughts. Sera bit her lip and considered turning back.

While she wrestled with the idea, a faint music drifted toward her from the far end of the cavern. The notes were hauntingly mournful and only just barely audible. Sera cocked her head to listen harder. Entrances to Faerie were sometimes marked by music; she could remember reading about it in her mother's old Codex. The tune dragged tiny hooks into her soul and pulled her forward inexorably step by step as she crept forward to hear it more clearly. Pulsing drums joined in under the soaring strains and she couldn't help but trace it deeper into the cavern complex.

After several more turns, the tunnel she was following opened up into a great, darkened chamber with luminescent green lichen veining upward along the walls. As Sera's light fell across the patches of growth, they seemed to throb and absorb the glow to strengthen their own inner light, and she watched in fascination as the outline of an obsidian throne took shape on the far end of the cavern. Faint tendrils of ley line power whispered across its surface and idly caressed the smooth, black stone in time to the music that seemed to come from the very walls. Sera's feet shuffled forward mechanically toward the empty throne as her heart pounded a wild tattoo in her chest that contrasted sharply with the enthralling theme and tried to snap her out of its spell.

The chorus drew to a crescendo as she reached the base of the throne and she knelt before it numbly to press her sweaty palms to the stone floor.

Silence flooded the chamber and Sera felt her ears pop softly as the siren call of the music abruptly ceased, leaving her panting shallowly. She lifted her eyes to look at where the mist of ley line magic was billowing softly around the obsidian seat.

The air crackled with menace and a woman's voice hissed out from the darkness around Sera, "Who dares to disturb She Who Waits?"

The glow from Sera's light shook in her hand and she felt her stomach knot with fear. She whipped her head left and right, searching for the speaker, but she couldn't see anyone. _Shitshitshit._

A blast of wind howled through the cavern and her hat swirled away, lost. A second icy gust knifed through her, and her teeth chattered as she answered the disembodied voice, "One who would save the Hunter she loves from his fate!"

The wind vanished and Sera dared to look up at the throne again, then immediately wished she hadn't.

An ancient Faerie woman was flickering to life in the mix of green luminescence from the lichen and Sera's own yellow glow-stick, and the two combined to gave the figure a sickly cast as the light filtered _through_ her. Long, brittle white hair fell in a thick tangle of tresses around a pale, wasted face. Her cheeks had sunken in, and the left side of her face gaped open to show the ghastly grin of teeth within. But it was her eyes that terrified Sera. Those dead black orbs stared with imperious disregard through the Shadowhunter cowering before the obsidian throne.

A rotted, tattered gown hung loosely on the Faerie's emaciated frame, its colours lost to the centuries, and its folds rustled softly as the woman rose slowly from her seat. Her fingers ended in broken nails that more closely resembled claws, and she stretched down one withered hand to lift Sera's chin with a single finger.

"No power on earth can bring back the dead, child." Veralysia's voice echoed almost as if two people were speaking just a fraction of a second off-sync. Sera swallowed thickly and tried not to think about how sharp one of those discoloured nails might be.

"He's not dead," she managed to whisper through lips parched by fear.

Veralysia's dark laughter rolled off the walls of the cavern and the back of Sera's neck prickled, sending a shiver down her spine at the unearthly sound.

"If he rides with the Hunt, half his soul is chained to Death's side of the veil. It is no longer his to reclaim." Her voice was bitter as it dropped. "You are wasting your time."

Sera drew in a shuddering breath and tried to throw off the aura of foreboding sorrow in the air. She had already come so far...

"You... loved... Lord Gwyn," she began haltingly. "I came to ask..." Her lungs constricted agonizingly to cut her off and she felt Veralysia's pain slam into her. She fell forward, gasping wordlessly for breath as centuries of grief pressed in suffocatingly.

Veralysia seethed down at her. "You came seeking answers, and callously wonder what lengths I went to in my desperation to be with him once more." Her image rippled and faded, and Sera felt some of the weight on her heart ease. She no longer had any idea where Veralysia was, but she rolled over weakly onto her back as she struggled to catch her breath. Sweat trickled down the sides of her neck as she whispered faintly into the emptiness, "Please..." She closed her eyes helplessly and felt tears well up to escape one by one.

Veralysia's voice reached out from all around her.

" _Watch."_

Sera felt the dry, papery touch of the Unseelie between her eyes, and then she was falling backwards through the centuries to another time.

 _Veralysia drew a brush through her long, silky black hair absently as her gaze looked past the empty bedroom where she still waited. Gwyn had not yet returned. He had never failed to send word if he was delayed by his duties as First Prince of the Unseelie Court. Fear teased at the edges of her mind and whispered that perhaps today was the day he had gone out to defend his people and would not return._

 _She nervously fingered the delicate gold locket at her throat. She didn't know what she would do without him; her love, her heart. Her anxiety continued to build as the hours passed and still he did not return._

 _When she could bear it no longer, she rose and pulled on a robe over her dressing gown. He would never do this to her. Someone had to know what had happened._

 _No sooner had she tied the sash at her waist than the door of the apartments they shared opened softly. Familiar, broad shoulders slipped through, his back to her, and she felt a wave of relief crash through her._

 _Veralysia closed the distance between them in a moment and reached up to turn him to face her so that she could press a kiss to his lips, but he resisted her touch and held his head turned away from her._

" _Why do you turn from me, my love, when I have worried so for you?"_

 _He kept his face averted, looking down and over his other shoulder as her hands slid up his arm questioningly. "I cannot stay, Veralysia." His voice trembled and she could feel him shaking with the effort of controlling himself. "We can be together no longer."_

 _His words stunned her. They had been pledged for years uncounted. The Fey did not take matters of the heart lightly. This couldn't be happening. She ceased trying to turn him and instead darted around to his other side to cup his face in her hands, then gasped in shock._

 _Gwyn's right eye had changed to a pale blue that contrasted sharply with the black of his left. But it was what was behind those mismatched eyes that took her breath away, though; an Otherness. A stranger peered out from his soul now._

 _He looked back at her in anguish as he read the horror in her face and closed his eyes hurriedly to hide what lay within, turning away from her once more. "I cannot stay," he repeated._

" _Gwyn..." she whispered uncomprehendingly._

 _His story tumbled out in a rush as he tried to explain what had been done to him and why. She could only shake her head mutely, unable to speak as he pleaded with her to understand. But how could she?_

" _Please, Veralysia. Let me go. Forget me," he begged at last. "You will find happiness with another, one who is whole."_

 _Her eyes narrowed. "No. I will speak to your father. He had no right to demand this sacrifice of you. There must be a way to restore you to the way you were."_

" _It cannot be undone," he answered gently, taking her small hands in own massive grasp. "I chose this."_

 _She tore her hands away from his. "I did not."_

 _Veralysia spun around and wrenched open the door, leaving the prince behind as he buried his face in his hands and wept for what he had lost._

The vision twisted and Sera watched as the memories shifted to another place.

 _Veralysia stalked furiously into the King's private apartments and slammed the door behind her in a rage when she found him reclining in a shallow basin of ley magic to replenish his strength from the dark ritual that had stripped her love from her._

" _What have you done?" She hurled at him, not caring for a moment about propriety. If her life had followed the path she had been on, she would have ruled as Queen of the Unseelie Court at Gwyn's side when his father faded from this world._

" _You overstep, Veralysia," he warned her. "What is done will not be reversed."_

" _Choose another," she countered heatedly. "Give this burden to any other but him."_

 _The King shook his head in denial and rose from the basin. "The choice has been made. Who better than Gwyn to shoulder the responsibility of saving our people?"_

" _Anyone but him," she pleaded once more._

 _The King reached out and closed his hands around her shoulders, and for a moment, she thought he meant to draw her forward into a comforting embrace, but instead she gasped as he tightened his grip painfully. His black eyes bored into her and she felt an aura of menace radiate from the bronze crown upon his brow._

" _We will not speak of this again," he said firmly in a dark voice. "Do you understand?"_

 _She felt the threat in his words and her eyes widened. To cause harm to another of the gentry was a great crime in the Courts, save where it was punishment for breaking their laws. The King risked much on this._

 _Her eyes lowered and she bowed her head slightly. He released his hold on her and she backed away swiftly, not daring to look at him. If she was going to find a way to save Gwyn, she needed to stay alive._

Sera felt an ache in her chest as Veralysia's iron determination to be reunited with her love overlapped with her own to save Rayce. In that moment between visions, she understood the other woman in a way that no other could.

 _Time passed, and Veralysia's despair grew._

 _Gwyn had left to hunt down his escaped brother, Matias, many weeks ago and had not yet returned. She had finally managed to speak with one of the five sorcerers who had assisted the King in Turning his son. The other four had all died or faded recently, and Veralysia wondered darkly at the coincidence._

 _The aged Faerie had been of no help to her though, only confirming what the King and Gwyn had told her. 'No power on earth can bring back the dead, child,' he had told her gently._

 _The King had been working on some sort of cloak in secret, though the few who knew of his efforts did not know its purpose. Veralysia was secretly happy that he was so distracted; if he had noticed her tracking down his co-conspirators, surely he would have put a stop to it, and her._

The memories skipped ahead over a short period and Sera struggled to hang on to herself as the weight of the Unseelie's past threatened to consume her.

 _Veralysia hid in the shadows and waited quietly. He would pass this way soon._

 _Her heart pounded in her throat as she dared to hope for a chance to get him back, even if she couldn't restore him to the way he had been. Matias walked among them once more, and the rumours said that he, too, bore the polychrome eyes of a Gatherer now. He could take his brother's place, and then Gwyn would be free to escape from the Courts with her. They could live in the world above, far from his father's games and safely out of his reach._

 _A silhouette appeared in the tunnel and she saw her love's tall, broad frame striding toward her unknowingly. An unfamiliar mantle lay across his shoulders, and the cloak swirled around his legs as he hurried to leave the Court once more to continue his grim work._

 _Her hands shot out as he passed and she pulled him into the darkness of the alcove where she had hidden herself._

" _Is it true?" She demanded. "Is Matias like you now?"_

 _Gwyn quickly recovered from the surprise of her ambush and shook off her hands roughly. "I no longer ride alone." His voice was distant, unfeeling, and it felt like a slap across her face._

" _Then let him serve in your place," she begged. "Come away with me before it's too late."_

 _One great hand reached up to touch the cloak's clasp at his throat. "It's already too late, Veralysia. I asked you once before to let me go. If you will not cease your pursuit, I will not return to the Court." In the darkness, she could not see the pain in his eyes. She could only hear the coldness in his voice. How could she know that he was pushing her away to save her? She would not take another unless he could convince her that he would never again stand at her side._

 _He left her shaking in the alcove without another word, and she felt the light in her heart die as he walked away._

 _In time, true to his word, he no longer came to the Courts. The King would, instead, send those who would have been sentenced to death to a cavern in the world above. The stories swirled through the flourishing Court about a Wild Hunt and its Lord as its ranks grew. The Unseelie grew strong again as the years passed and the Eternal Forest was nurtured with the blood of the fallen by those who stood with one foot in the next world._

 _Without a word to anyone, Veralysia slipped away from the Unseelie Court for good. A kind of madness had laced itself tightly into her grief, and she toyed with a notion that finally made her_ feel _something after all these years. If Gwyn would not love her in this world, then she would find him in the next._

 _She settled into a deep cavern under a great canyon that carved a scar across the face of the world above and waited. The years passed slowly at first until she learned to see through them, and then the decades began to speed by. Her once-lush black hair began to go grey, and then white as the colour leeched away. She watched for any sign that Gwyn might return to her sooner, but nothing changed, and so she continued to wait as the years took their toll on her._

 _As her flesh withered through the centuries, she started to feel a new weakness creep through her wasted body, and at last, Veralysia began to fade._

 _The first moment that she was able to step into the night lands was filled with terrifying ecstasy, but she pulled herself back almost immediately. Her throne of obsidian waited for her patiently._

 _She no longer even felt the passing of time as she experimented to find just the right connection to the ley magic of the earth that would suspend her on the very edge of fading completely. Once she achieved the balance, her body freely shifted between wraith and woman, and she searched beyond the veil for the other half of Gwyn's soul amidst the thousands of shining stars in the endless night sky._

 _What she was doing was madness, abomination, but her people had forgotten her long ago, and there was no one to tell her to turn back, and nor would she once she had her first taste of success._

 _In that place beyond the veil, Veralysia found her love and wept ethereal tears into eternity as she embraced him. He was only a shadow of the man she had loved, but after centuries of waiting, it was more than she had ever thought to recover. Finding him was difficult each time, and sometimes she would drift aimlessly without connecting. Months would pass in the Mortal world as the ley magic trickled into her and preserved her shattered life while she sought after him, but she no longer cared; she had as much of him back as she was ever going to get._

 _And so, sometimes, when the stars were especially bright and the air was cold in the north of the world above, the night sky would be just right. Gwyn would look up at the darkness to mark the shining stars, eyes searching, heart reaching for the wonder he had glimpsed on the other side of the water. That was when he would exhale softly and allow himself to whisper her name._

 _Veralysia._

Veralysia lifted her finger from Sera's forehead and the Shadowhunter gasped as her eyes opened back into the mixed green and yellow light of the cavern. The touch of death was heavy on her and she scrambled to her feet breathlessly to shake it off, feeling dangerously close to a world she wasn't yet ready to cross into.

"As I said," Veralysia rasped. "You are wasting your time. You do not have centuries to wait as I once did. You are mortal. Your pain will only last a few short years before you pass from this world."

Sera backed away from the Faerie. "Then I'll have to work quickly," she said in a shaking voice.

Veralysia laughed. It was a ghastly sound that was made all the more horrific by the ruin of her smile through her rotted cheek. "Gwyn will not release him."

Sera's mind took a nose-dive. _Jesus,_ she thought, _she doesn't know that Gwyn's dead, yet._ Given the definite instability of the Unseelie wraith, Sera decided not to change that. Let her find out in her own time; she seemed to have a lot of it on her hands.

" _Aut invenium viam aut faciam,"_ she whispered fiercely.

The spectre before Sera shimmered again and vanished, letting dark laughter echo through the cavern and the haunting music seeped upward once more. The dismissal was clear.

Sera had no idea how she managed to find her way back to Mike and the rope that led up the canyon wall. When he saw her ashen face, he pushed himself up to his feet and out of the patch of shade where he had been sitting.

"Christ almighty, Sera. What the fuck happened to you?" All of his former swagger had been wiped away by her long absence. The sun had crossed the sky and hours had passed unmarked. The parallel to Veralysia's suspended animation was too much, too soon.

"Found it," she said weakly, hoping that her voice was steady. "Let's get out of here, okay?"

"Amen," he agreed.

Once they managed to get a hold of the pilot and summon the chopper back for a pick up, Sera settled into her seat once more and stared out the window as she processed everything she had seen. Her dreams from that morning tugged at her and she turned her head away from where Mike was no longer checking her out. She felt utterly overwhelmed by everything she still had to do, and a pair of tears slipped out silently.

 _Rayce._

Everett stepped through the Portal into the Las Vegas Institute with his long-time supporter, Jay Ravenkey, and they were promptly met by its Head, Gina Something-or-other. He didn't remember or care what her name was.

"Consul," she greeted him respectfully.

He waved off the formality when he caught sight of the folded sheet of paper in her hand. They had finally gotten a message to him about his request to look into any credible sources claiming to see the future. In Las Vegas, one never knew what they would get, but the letter had been quite clear that they had a solid lead.

"Show me," he ordered while straightening the cuffs of his white dress shirt under a navy jacket that concealed his favorite brace of knives.

Gina had the wisdom to mask the flicker of annoyance that crossed her face as she handed over the note. Everett unfolded it impatiently and found an address written carefully on the page. His lips curled up as he looked sideways at Jay and nodded once, already brushing past the girl.

"Will you be needing an escort, Consul...?" she asked, jogging forward as he gave her no choice but to scamper after him or be left behind.

"No, that won't be necessary. Just the use of one of your vehicles will suffice," he answered.

Minutes later, Jay was following the inexplicably German-accented GPS directions as he drove them toward their destination. Dark sunglasses protected his pale blue eyes from the glare of the early morning sun as it glinted off his short blond hair. He had known Everett for years, and he knew when to keep silent. His old friend was simmering with a quiet intensity as they drew nearer to their prize, and he didn't want to interrupt whatever thoughts were going through the Consul's mind.

Everett tapped his fingers absently against his leg as they drove, lost in thought. The Drake brothers had finished their work last night and he had helped them test it immediately. He couldn't conceal his grin as he remembered the satisfaction of seeing the intended effects. There was always a way. The cage was ready, now he just needed to fill it.

More messages from Wrangel Island had been laying on his desk this morning when he had gone in to his office, disguising the one from Las Vegas, but he had dealt with them swiftly. Breaches had been detected in multiple places across the globe, but they were near useless, flyspeck Mundane towns. He had relayed cautions to the closest Institutes and advised them that he was dispatching Centurions to deal with any trouble in the area. Most of the teams would need hours to reach their destinations; it was ridiculous to waste resources on this, but he had to be seen doing something after the twin disasters in Buenos Aires and Cairo.

His lips compressed as he thought of the report he had received from one of the Shadowhunters in Buenos Aires. Jace Herondale and Alec Lightwood had surfaced with their pet warlock and taken control of the defense of the city. No wonder it had been such mess. Herondale had punched out Everett's contact, otherwise the Clave may have been notified in time to prevent their foolish attempt at rebellion. They had vanished after the attack, and Everett hadn't heard anything more recent about their current location. His hand tightened into a fist as he thought about his rival working behind his back to keep control of the Clave. _Idiot. I'll make sure you get a cell right next to sweet Sera until you're Stripped and executed._

The car glided to halt in front of a small bungalow in a slightly run-down neighbourhood outside the city. A beat-up old minivan was parked in the narrow driveway, its green paint quietly rusting away around the wheel wells. The street was deserted as Everett and Jay slipped out of the car, and the Consul waited at the front door while his partner completed a quick loop around the property to ensure that there would be no surprises.

Everett's heart was racing inside his chest with the thrill of the hunt, and he waited eagerly for Jay to reappear and give the all-clear signal. He drew his stele from the inside pocket of his jacket and watched the corner of the house.

Jay's blond head poked around the corner and he nodded, silently holding up one finger to point toward the rear of the house and indicate that there was only a single occupant in the home right now, and then he vanished back the way he had come. Everett sketched a quick Opening rune into the cracked paint over the doorknob and then leaned back to kick it in with a crash.

He surged forward into the home, eyes flickering past the untidy interior, and he heard Jay breaking in through the back door at the same time. A startled yell rose from the kitchen as both men burst in. Jay's arms locked around the lone figure as one half of a toasted whole-wheat bagel landed Nutella-side down on the cheap linoleum.

"Hey, holy shit! Everyone just be cool, okay?" The pale, skinny young man tried to twist in Jay's grip, but he had a snowball's chance in Hell of breaking free. "There's some cash in the bedroom, but I don't even have a T.V guys," he said, blinking his milky white eyes for emphasis. Panic made his voice rise higher as they remained silent. "Just take whatever you want, okay?"

Everett looked at him curiously. How did a runt like this know his Sera? Did he?

"This will be less about me _taking_ , and more about you _giving_ if you're smart. And don't bother with the 'blind guy' line - I think we both know that you _see_ more than the average human, _Mr. Mostly-Mundane,_ " Everett finished in a hiss.

Steven's mouth went dry. These guys were serious. _I should have gone with 'Mysterio', copyright be damned,_ he thought wildly. _Then at least I'd just have some nice, friendly nerd fans smashing in to join me for breakfast._

"What do you want?" He asked tremulously.

The Consul's face split into a grin. It was so easy to terrify Mundanes into cooperating. How could Raziel have ever thought that a Shadowhunter life was worth throwing away to save one of these weaklings? "I want you to tell me exactly where our lovely, mutual friend lives."

 _Holy shit, Sera. You weren't kidding about these Clave guys._ He knew a little about the Shadowhunters, but Sera hadn't wanted to share too much. All he really knew was that she kept up her glamours to stay hidden from the Clave; probably to avoid a situation exactly like this. His hands started to sweat where the guy behind him had his arms in a death-grip, but he decided to try for the bluff.

"I'm not gonna lie, man, but you don't sound like the kind of guy who has friends, let alone lovely ones."

Everett lunged forward while simultaneously drawing one of his knives from inside his jacket. In an instant, he had the tip pressed against Steven's cheekbone, just below one of his sightless eyes. His voice was low and dangerous, but controlled as he brought his face level with the boy's. "I'm going to make this very simple for you, Steven."

He traced the edge of the blade down slowly, pressing almost hard enough to draw blood as he continued patiently, "I will give you the chance to tell me where Sera lives. If you don't tell me, I'll assume that you don't need your tongue."

Steven's chin quivered as the knife played down across his lips, but Everett whispered in the inches of space between them, "Then I will give you the chance to write down her address. If you don't give it to me, I'll assume that you don't need your fingers."

The knife slid up under his jaw line and Steven felt tears leak down his cheek as he clenched his eyes closed in fear while Everett casually worked his way back up to the opposite cheekbone. Steven drew in a shuddering breath and prayed that this was a nightmare, but Everett's voice was unrelenting. "Then I will give you one last chance to lead me to her home. If you don't show me, I'll assume that you don't need your feet."

Steven sagged backwards against the bigger Shadowhunter as his knees buckled, but the man held him firmly and didn't let him fall. Everett withdrew his blade and took the boy's jaw in his hand instead. "Have I made myself _very_ clear?"

 _This isn't happening_ , Steven thought. _This isn't real._ Sera's smiling face flashed in his mind and he saw her as he always did, without ever having seen her before he lost his sight. She had the face of an angel and was back-lit by sunshine and the glow of Heaven itself. _So beautiful_.

His entire body was trembling. Her face sparked the memory of the dream he had warned her about and his heart sank as he watched her get caught again in a trap she couldn't see. He drew in another quavering breath and exhaled.

"Bad... ju-ju..."

 _**Author's note: Sorry for the long delay! I still haven't had a day off yet since returning from the camping trip. Apparently, it wasn't the moose I had to worry about (although we did wake up to one across the water from our campsite, lol, Canada, eh?), it was the gorydamn bugs. Razzziiieeeel. The bites were insane. Thanks for bearing with me. I have_ _ **one whole day**_ _off on Tuesday, and will aim to get Chapter 9 up then before I get swallowed up by another swath of work. Urrrgh!_

 _Small consolation: This is the longest chapter to date. What a monster. And I was deliberately holding myself back at the end. Oyyy._


	9. Chapter 9

**9**

Low-burning fires flickered across a grassy hillside somewhere in Scotland, dotting the darkened landscape as the sun slowly sank below the horizon at the close of another day. Its fading bloody light washed over the Hunters that were crouched or sprawled around the Faerie-made fires and it painted their faces with swaths of shadow that gave them half-masks as the evening dimmed.

Rayce left his Hunters behind and drifted away from the pack, alone. He took a deep breath of fresh air to clear his head of the lingering effects of riding through the lands of deep Faerie. Memories of his father whispered at the edges of his mind and he angrily shoved them away. They oozed back insistently. _Fresh air can't sweep away who you are, Rayce_ , they whispered.

He pushed his hands back through his hair, his eyes dark and serious as he watched the sun slipping below the horizon, and he sighed heavily. How many days had passed in the Mortal world since he had gone to the Eternal Forest? Was it even possible to mark the time between the two? It felt like only hours since he had left his sister in the throne room of the Seelie Court. Bitterly, he now understood why Gwyn had not allowed the others even attempt to track the days as they fell away from the calender. Better to accept what was lost and only look forward, endlessly forward.

Once he could no longer see the light from the fires behind him, he settled down in the long grass and wrapped his arms around his knees. Despite all of the cautions and warnings he could find in Gwyn's memories of Veralysia, he let himself think of Sera. He closed his eyes and brought her to life in his mind, every beat of his heart adding another layer and more colour until she was perfectly restored. _I have to remember_ , he berated himself. _I don't care what it'll cost me. I won't let the Hunt take her, too._ He held on to the image of her and relaxed back into the hillside comfortably as the sky darkened overhead and the stars winked to life.

The moors were nearly silent around him. Only the gentle humming of insects filtered through the night, and Rayce felt his lips gently curl up into the first smile he could remember since he had been ensnared by the cloak. Sera's crooked grin smiled back at him from behind his eyelids and he exhaled softly.

 _Sera_.

Another Hunter lay in the long grass with his eyes closed, but the light of a fire flickered across his face, illuminating his swollen eyes and broken nose. Dried blood had spilled from his mouth, his nose, and from deep cuts made by the Morgenstern family ring, and it had crusted down across his split lips to give him a macabre mask. His right hand had been hastily bandaged by Caelus when he had been lifted from the isolated cavern under Cadair Idris.

Slim, blue hands unwound the dressing carefully and set it aside when they had coaxed it free. The lips of an inch and a half-long cut were pursed open and the wound began bleeding again as the clots were broken.

 _What a mess_ , Baelerithon thought to himself. He gently slipped his left hand over Kieran's right palm until he could lightly clasp the boy's injury. Bael focused his gift and let it trickle into the Unseelie slowly. In his mind's eye, he could see the wound begin to close over where Kieran's enchanted dagger had pierced his own hand once more. It happened slowly at first with an angry red scar, but then it soon faded to nothing more than a white ridge across the back of his hand and his palm.

Kieran stirred as his muscles and tendons knitted back together, but did not wake. Bael unhooked a waterskin from the boy's belt and poured some water over the rag that had been used to bind the injured hand. Working carefully, he began to clean away the blood from Kieran's face.

At the cool touch of the water, the young prince's swollen eyes fluttered, but he was unable to open them fully to see who had come to care for him. Bael's fingers brushed down Kieran's face and the swelling slowly subsided until black and silver eyes stared up at him curiously.

"You should consider yourself fortunate that my brother has a soft heart, Prince Kieran," Bael said quietly, returning to his work with the rag.

Kieran's bloodied lips twitched up weakly into a bitter sneer and he closed his eyes once more. "Forgive me if I find it difficult to feel fortunate right now."

"But you are," Bael insisted. He spread his healing magic to probe at Kieran's shattered nose and the boy inhaled sharply at the pain when it began to edge back into place. "You should consider yourself fortunate to have been given such a useful ally."

The Unseelie grimaced as cartilage reformed under Bael's guidance. "Fortunate indeed," he gasped, "that your gift seems to run toward healing." He clenched his eyes more tightly and bared his teeth as his nose straightened once more.

Bael waited until he knew the young prince would again be listening, and then he continued in an undertone that would not carry beyond their fire, "I think you'll find that I have many gifts."

As his pain faded under Bael's touch, Kieran opened his eyes once more and saw Bael in a new light, and he veiled his gaze as he reached down to stroke his fingers lightly across the other Faerie's hand. He let his own magic slip across their connection and then looked back up at Bael from under his eyelashes. "As do I," he purred.

The hand that had been trailing healing magic into the Unseelie drew back and slapped the prince hard across his half-healed face. Kieran gasped in pain, but was cut off as Bael clapped his palm down over the boy's mouth and leaned down to hiss in his ear. "No, you don't. You have _one_ gift that you use with all the subtlety and finesse of a club."

Kieran's expression furrowed in furious indignation at both the slap and the insult, and he growled wordlessly into Bael's hand, but the older Faerie did not relent. "You are sloppy and careless, and you allow your heart to rule your actions like a sullen child. You lack the discipline and training that you would have received in your father's Court if you had not been so brash and foolish to have had your plot uncovered so easily."

The boy's eyes widened in surprise and Bael sighed. "Your face betrays you at every turn and your mind is slow and unimaginative." He glanced over his shoulder to ensure that they were still unobserved by the others. "Since it appears that I must guide you through the simple explanation, I will remind you that I have spent years visiting the Unseelie Court in my pursuit of the throne. Do you truly believe that I would not have heard the whispers behind hidden hands of your own failure?"

Silver and black eyes turned downward in shame and Bael removed his hand from Kieran's mouth. "You are young, but you are not without promise," he offered. "With the right guidance, you may actually live long enough to successfully take your revenge."

Kieran arched his eyebrow and sat up as Bael reached over to continue healing the Hunter. The Unseelie gave him a doubtful look. "And how do you propose to pursue vengeance?"

"By first extracting your promise to accept that you will never master my brother. He will never replace the Blackthorn boy; Rayce is far too dangerous. You made a fool of yourself in the tournament of champions a decade ago, and you were punished again for repeating your mistake." He touched the new scar on Kieran's hand to make his point. "Too many know your weakness. Cut it loose. Do you understand?"

Glowering, Kieran nodded reluctantly. "I should warn you that the Lord of the Hunt can stop you with a word; Hunters must obey his commands. How will you get around that?"

Bael thought back to the unfortunate Kratus. It had certainly been a poignant lesson, but he smiled confidently at Kieran. "Patience, young prince. I am new to this game, but I only need time to study the pieces and learn the rules before I will be ready to begin playing. Until then, do nothing to attract his notice and do not speak to me where he may see."

"You will have no protection from the others," Kieran said, nodding at the Hunters around the other fires and then shooting a meaningful look at where the ruined stumps of Bael's wings jutted upward from his back. "They lost brothers in the fight for the Seelie Court."

Bael finished mending the last of the damage to Kieran's face and watched as the bruising quickly faded away. His eyes were filled with condescending pity as he regarded his new ally. "It is difficult to believe that you were ever a prince of the Courts when you are so hopelessly short-sighted." He paused as annoyance flickered across Kieran's features, but the younger Faerie held his tongue, at last. _Perhaps he can be taught after all._ Bael spread his hands innocently. "Your fellow Hunters did not give their lives for _me_ in the Seelie Court. They died by my brother's orders, and they died for my lovely, devious sister."

A slow smile spread across Kieran's lips as he nodded thoughtfully. Maybe Baelerithon was right. He felt a rush of savage pleasure at the thought of breaking Rayce, of seeing him cut down in his pride.

A part of Kieran even began to feel... fortunate.

Sera lifted her crossbow out of the hidden cache under her bedroom floor and pulled out two tubes of bolts to go with it. She tossed a pair of short swords, a pair of boot knives, and a brace of throwing knives onto the duvet and then carefully covered the stash again.

After getting back from the Grand Canyon and its haunting lessons, she had figured out what to do about her mother's stele, but she was decidedly worried about the implications. Her dream had felt like it was going to happen _soon_ , but there was no telling _how_ soon. If she left now, she could be days early, or she could have already missed her window of opportunity while she had been in Veralysia's domain. There was no way to know.

She was clad once more much the way she had been on the night she had finally met her prince face-to-face. Tough, black leather pants encased her long legs, buttressed by her favourite boots, and she had thrown on her favourite jacket over a plain tank top. _Black for hunting through the night,_ she mused to herself absently. She pulled her hair back into a tight ponytail before strapping the throwing knives to her right thigh. The short swords were hung from the same weapons belt she had worn in Toronto, and her fingers shook as she fastened the clasp while remembering the feeling of pulling it tight against Rayce's waist to keep pressure of the Elf-bolt wound.

"Get a grip, Sera," she muttered.

The crossbow settled into place across her back without a thought and she clipped the bolts to her belt to leave her with only one thing left to do to finish her preparations.

Her mother's stele still rested on her bedside table, and Sera jammed it down into the inside pocket of her jacket where she had once kept her dream diary. _Trading the future for the past,_ she thought darkly. Not a good image. She scribbled a quick warning on a sheet of pilfered hotel stationary and slipped it into the same pocket before zipping it up.

She braced her right hand against the bedroom wall and fixed the image of the battlefield from her dream in her mind. It had been so _real_... The Portal swirled open to show gently-waving stalks in darkened fields and she felt a surge of relief as she recognized the area. Without another thought, she leaped through the portal.

Sera's ponytail was whipped sideways in the rush of wind from the Portal and her boots hit the ground solidly as the gateway closed behind her. Then screams ripped through the air to her right and she snapped around to seek out the source.

Dozens of Mundanes were running flat-out across an adjacent field that had been left fallow for the season, and a pack of a dozen Hellhounds was growling and snapping at their heels. Even as Sera watched, one of beasts pulled down a woman who was trailing behind the mob of terrified humans. It paused to savagely tear out her throat before returning to the hunt with a bloody muzzle.

A pair of Hellhounds had caught sight of the glow of Sera's Portal and were staring back at her curiously even as she stared at them. Their ears pricked forward and their lips drew back as they sensed another predator in their territory. Sera heard the deep, rumbling growls that vibrated through those massive black and brown chests as they assessed the threat.

"Fuck me, I hate being early," Sera whispered under her breath when two pairs of black demon eyes fixed on her with deadly intent and the Hellhounds launched themselves toward her. Her hands flew to the short swords at her waist and she slipped them free in an instant to quickly run her hands down the flats and Mark them with some fast runes.

She surprised the demons by running straight at them, blades flashing in the moonlight as she pretended to brace herself for the impact.

At the last possible moment, Sera dodged sideways and sank her right blade deep into the chest of the first hound even as she spun to slash down hard with her left to separate the other demon's head from its body. She yanked her blade free in a shower of blood and didn't spare a glance down at where the Hellhounds were collapsing in on themselves. Her eyes were already tracking the fading group of humans running for their lives.

Her heart pounded with adrenaline as she kicked herself into a run and began to trail runes along her collarbones and up her neck. Night-vision bloomed to bring her quarry back into view across the field, and a new burst of speed propelled her across the torn ground.

 _Well, that part was accurate at least_ , she thought sarcastically as she raced away in pursuit. _But there weren't any goddamn demon dogs in my dream!_

Empowered by her Marks, she closed the gap between herself and the rear of the pack swiftly, willing herself not to see the torn bodies of the Mundanes in her path who hadn't run fast enough. She caught the first hound from behind, unaware, and sheared through its rear legs with one powerful stroke of her left-hand sword. It howled in pain, but she silenced it by jamming her other blade down through its throat.

Others from the pack turned on her at the keening cry of one of their brothers, and Sera howled at them in challenge to try to taunt as many away from the humans as possible. She caught sight of a man in a familiar bright red flannel shirt running with a little girl screaming in his arms. _God, I can still save them._ _There weren't any demons in my dream..._ she struggled for a moment before it hit her: ... _because I was here to stop them!_

Realization swept through her in an instant and she hooked the hilts of her weapons back to her belt in a heartbeat as a half dozen of the Hellhounds broke off their pursuit to bring her down. Her hands flashed down to her thigh and drew a pair of throwing knives. Runes hissed into the metal with the force of her fury as her fingers caressed the blades, and then she let them fly, deadly and true as they sank into maddened black eyes to take down the first two demons.

She sent two more hastily-runed blades whistling through the night to thud into the beasts, killing one and tripping up a fourth as it lodged deep in its shoulder joint to jam the socket. Sera closed her hands back around the grips of her swords and whipped them up defensively as the remaining two demons barrelled into her.

Sera slashed upwards while spinning to the right to deflect the weight of the pair, and she just barely managed to twist her shoulder out of the way in time as a set of massive jaws snapped shut inches away. She continued the spin and brought her off-hand around and down blindly at where a flash of future-sight showed her the other hound would be. The edge of her sword bit deeply into the back of the demon's neck and sent a rush of satisfaction through her. _Still got it_!

The Hellhound bayed in pain and shook its massive frame in an effort to either free itself from her sword or take her arm off; she honestly couldn't tell the difference. Sera released her grip on her left-hand sword and stepped nimbly away from the slavering bite of the first hound without even being consciously aware of it. She spun down to her left knee, staying around the edges of the pair to avoid being pinned between them, and ripped free her left boot knife to drive it forward right through the gaping maw diving for her face. Sulphurous breath washed over her in a gagging cloud of reek as the demon shrieked in pain and rage when it was dispatched to its home dimension.

The last hound snarled viciously as it bowled over Sera, and she was knocked backwards from her unbalanced position on one knee. Gasping as her breath was knocked out of her lungs, she managed to get her right foot under the beast's belly, but she couldn't leverage upwards with enough force to send it over. Trapped under the weight of the massive demon, Sera struggled to breathe. She whipped her head sideways in panic as she pushed its neck away with two handfuls of oily fur, her ruined swords dropped on impact. Her crossbow lay flung out to her left side on its shoulder strap, useless in close quarters.

The demon strained downwards to bite at the exposed flesh of her throat, and she screamed in pain as a thick rope of drool dangled down from its jaws and hissed against her skin. Her night-vision faded as the rune burned away and she gritted her teeth against the agony. Sera's hands flared red-hot for a moment and then it was the demon screeching impossibly in the darkness as seraphic runes were burned directly into its hide. Her lips were drawn back in a snarl as she scorched the very language of heaven itself into the demonic flesh, and then the creature simply dissolved into an insubstantial mist.

Sera rolled over to her knees as her head swam dizzyingly from the pain. She wanted to retch from the combination of stink and the sticky feeling of ichor clinging to her, and she even dry-heaved once before regaining control. Being trained to fight was one thing, but if she had to be honest with herself, she really hadn't had a lot of opportunities to fight _actual demons._

She raised her head to look for the humans again, and caught sight of the father and his daughter once more, this time less than eighty yards away, where the last three Hellhounds were dragging down a man as he screamed for mercy.

 _I can make it._

Sera dug the toe of her boot into the churned-up dirt and then sprinted forward, legs pumping as she flew over the distance between herself and the beleaguered humans.

A flash of teeth was all the warning she got as she leaped to clear the body of a Hell- _wait, shouldn't the bodies vanish-_ Sera's world exploded in agony as the demon she had only disabled with her throwing knife lunged upward at her. Its jaws closed around her right boot and tore into her calf sickeningly. She was jerked down abruptly and she fought to hold onto consciousness, knowing that blacking out now was a death sentence.

She scrabbled to draw her remaining boot knife, but she couldn't get her fingers around the hilt without risking them becoming dog treats, so she curled in closer to clamp her hands around the Hellhound's muzzle. Growls transitioned into horror-struck howls, and then the demon was gone.

Sera's boot was shredded, but she was more than a little afraid to take a closer look at the damage. She made herself to look away and find the last of the demons, now just thirty yards away. Through sheer force of will, she levered herself up to her right knee and brought her crossbow around. She hooked the cocking stirrup around the toe of her left boot, bore down, and silently thanked her father for giving her the strength needed to cock it back manually. In a flash, she had a bolt loaded, runed and ready to fly, and she watched it punch right through the skull of one of the remaining Hellhounds to send it screaming back to the Void.

The other two looked back at where she had lowered the bow to reload, their eyes burning with hatred. One broke for her immediately, but the other tore forward into the man with the red flannel jacket instead, ripping into his back as he turned away to protect his daughter from the onslaught.

With her heart in her throat, Sera dropped a second runed bolt into the flight groove and lifted the weapon just in time to squeeze the trigger and blow the shaft through the demon's eye socket in a shower of gore. She turned her face away to avoid the worst of the splatter, but she felt the burning sting of the blood as it landed on her unprotected skin.

Fingers burning from the bite of the cables, she cocked the crossbow for one more shot even as she saw that she was too late. The field was eerily silent around her as she locked eyes with the final demon and fired the third bolt to dispatch it back to Hell.

Panting shallowly, Sera slipped one of her throwing knives free and used it to cut a slit up her pant leg, baring the skin above her now chew-toy status boot. She wrapped both of her hands around her leg and sent _iratzes_ spiraling outwards to deal with the worst of the damage that she was still unwilling to assess. Tired and shaking, she pushed herself up and hobbled across the distance separating her from the two humans she had seen so clearly in her dream that morning.

She collapsed heavily at the man's side and groaned as shocks went through her battered body. He lay curled around his daughter, just as before.

 _I couldn't save them_.

Sera closed her eyes and swayed sideways. Even _her_ extraordinary constitution had its limits.

Black spots danced in her vision when she opened her eyes again and she struggled to stay awake. One trembling hand reached into her jacket to pull out her mother's stele and her hastily-scrawled note to Rayce. With a flash of guilt, she rolled the folded page around the stele and slid it halfway into the front pocket of the flannel jacket. Rayce would eventually stand right here. He would recognize the stele for what it was, and he would get her message before it was too late.

Unwillingly, Sera looked down at where her calf had at least stopped bleeding from what she could tell. The _iratzes_ had already faded, spent, and she renewed them tiredly.

Unable to hold unconsciousness at bay any longer, Sera sank backwards and passed out among the dead.

 _Sera found herself falling through a snowstorm that swirled through the grey sky around her._

 _Freezing winds ripped at her leather jacket to mock its protection, and shining tresses dampened by sweat and blood froze in the icy chill. Sera squinted through the storm and spun to find the ground rushing up to meet her, but she was a veteran of the dream world and slowed her fall before she could hit the blasted rock._

 _A tiny cabin was hunkered down in the snow, and Sera pushed toward it on legs that were already frozen, her right pant leg flapping in the gale. Her mind raced to take in this strange location, and even as she watched, the storm faded away. The cabin's wooden facade was bluff and plain, rough walls obscured by the scrub of ice and snowed crusted along the faces._

 _She took a deep breath and stepped through the door to the cramped interior. Mismatched couches and armchairs were crowded into the main room, and a small kitchen nook bumped off the back behind a raised counter top. Three narrow doors stood closed on the left wall to hint at the rooms beyond, but Sera's eyes were drawn to the girl sitting on the floor in front of the wood stove._

 _Her knees were draw up to her chest and she had her arms wrapped tightly around them as she stared into the flickering flames through the grate. Firelight danced off her blond hair and in golden eyes that were so like Sera's own._

 _Sera crouched down next to Aspen Herondale and looked more closely at the girl's face. Tears were slipping down her cheeks silently to fall unchecked. The despair in her expression was heartbreakingly easy to read. Whatever she had been dealing with, she wasn't coping well, and Sera felt guilty again about neglecting her promise. She stretched out a ghostly hand to grip the girl's shoulder, knowing that it was a useless gesture._

 _What was going on behind that troubled gaze?_

Aspen's eyes glowed in the flickering light of the fire inside the stove of Helen and Aline's cabin. She hated it here; it was always cold, and the adults dropped their voices to a hushed whisper whenever they were around her or Hunter, as if someone was dying. Last night, when they had all thought she and Hunter were asleep, she had listened at the door while they spoke in low voices around the living room.

Jem had gently broken the news to her mother. Aspen hadn't been able to bear doing it herself and seeing the disappointment in her mother's eyes. He had carefully tested her and Hunter for most of the day, and it was clear that Aspen's strength with runes had been shattered by the binding. Her ability was now, perhaps, weaker than an ordinary Shadowhunter's, save when she Marked Hunter. Even then, her runes were barely adequate.

Physically, Jem had explained, both teenagers were healthy, despite Hunter's pale face and general lethargy. What he was still having trouble working out was the waxing and waning of one or the other during their testing. Aspen had bent over double, gasping, while Hunter had jogged laps around the cabin outside.

The ex-Silent Brother's eyes had darkened with concern when he saw her reaction, and he had seemed to war with himself mentally before calling Hunter over. Clary, Helen, and Aline had taken Tessa out to the ritual site to give Jem and the kids some space, but he had still looked over his shoulder before asking them very quietly if there was anything between them romantically.

Hunter had been appalled; Aspen was practically his _sister_ , he had protested. Was it even _possible_ to think of her like that? Aspen had vehemently agreed with him. _Siblings?_ In _love?_ Gross.

Assured that there was no blooming love of _eros,_ Jem had sighed with relief and waved off the increasingly insulting declarations of mutual disgust coming from the kids.

Listening to the adults last night had made Aspen's stomach twist with fear as Jem had tried to explain what he could about the strange parabatai link. At one point, she had heard her mother's voice shake as she had asked if it was anything like the twisted bond that Jace had briefly shared with Sebastian. Jem had been quick to allay her fear, and Aspen had silently agreed with him. Earlier that day, she had held her breath and sliced her thumb at Jem's behest, waiting to see if Hunter would manifest the same injury, but nothing had happened.

Jem's leading theory right now was that they both just need to rest and remain under observation. It had been a terrible shock to both of their systems, he had said, and perhaps only time would repair the damage to Aspen's gift.

But she could already feel the truth. It wasn't coming back.

The log inside the stove had become little more than glowing embers while she sat and brooded, and Aspen grabbed the poker to carefully hook open the grate and shove in more wood. A _Thermis_ rune sounded like a great idea, but she didn't want to risk it. Aspen jabbed at the new log a bit more forcefully than was necessary as it started to burn brightly. She was just so _frustrated_ with living like this. It wasn't fair.

The fire snapped and crackled as it began to consume the wood, and Aspen continued to spear the poker into the embers idly. _Fire is where this all started_ , she thought to herself. She remembered the flames racing up her walls, and she saw the heavy wardrobe crush Hunter again in her memory.

When her uncle Alec and Magnus had arrived, she had thought that everything was going to be okay. Magnus could fix anything. But he'd only been able to get the burn on Alec's shoulder mending before _iratzes_ had been used to get it on its way properly. He had had no idea what to do for Aspen and Hunter, and then it had been too late; they had left for Buenos Aires to hold back the demon invasion.

Aspen's breath caught in her throat as she thought about her uncle's shoulder again. He had deliberately burned himself to destroy the Clave's house-arrest rune that had been keeping him imprisoned in his home. If he hadn't freed himself, he would have been trapped until the other half of the rune was consumed by the fire, and by then it might have been too late.

A crazy idea started to take shape in the back of her mind, and Aspen's eyes gleamed in the rising firelight as she looked down the length of the poker to where it was still buried in the ashes of the stove.

 _We could start over_. _Hunter could take all the time he wanted to heal properly, and then we could do the parabatai ceremony together the way it was meant to be done. Everything could go back to the way it was._

She slowly turned the handle of the poker in the fire, fascinated by the idea of essentially hitting the reset button. She was Aspen Sophia Herondale, daughter of Clarissa Fairchild and Jace Herondale, and the world would expect great things from her. How could she possibly amount to _anything_ when she was stuck like this? There were probably dregs in the Academy who were stronger than her now. She loved Hunter, and she thanked the Angel that he had lived, but a tiny part of her resented that she had given up everything that made her special.

 _I didn't know it would be like this_ , she insisted, talking herself into it. That same, tiny, annoying part of her wondered if she would have still made the same choice if she had known the price. But now there was a chance to change it.

Aspen pulled the poker out of the fire and stared at it. _This is going to hurt like hell_. She adjusted and shortened her grip on the tool to make it easier to manoeuvre, and then pulled the neck of her sweater down to expose the _parabatai_ rune that lay over her heart. She took in a deep breath through her nose and held it, clamping her mouth shut against the scream she already knew she wasn't going to be able to hold back.

The cabin door crashed open with a bang and a chilling gust of wind as a blond woman stumbled through wildly toward Aspen, her hands outstretched to snatch the poker away and throw it back through the open door. She slammed the door closed once more and sank down against it, gasping and breathing hard as she shivered.

Aspen's mouth gaped open in shock at the abrupt interruption. "Who are you?" she asked in a quavering voice.

"Holy God, that was close," the woman huffed as she pushed her blood-stained tangle of gold and platinum hair back from her face. Her eyes caught Aspen's and she nodded in greeting. "We've met, but I didn't look like this last time."

 _What the hell is she talking about?_ Aspen took in the shredded boot, the flap of leather hanging from above the woman's knee, and the overall spatter of gore across her clothes and face, but she still couldn't connect the image to any memory she had. When she didn't look like she had been wrestling demons (and losing, by the looks of it), the woman was probably beautiful beyond comparison.

"Here," the stranger offered. "See if this helps." She reached her right hand into her jacket and slipped it over the back of her left shoulder, and then her entire appearance rippled under the effects of a glamour. A middle-aged woman with grey-streaked brown hair and kind, dark eyes now leaned against the door and smiled faintly. "Just tell me that you didn't _actually_ force your friend to eat tomato soup with mangoes. That's truly horrific."

The girl's eyes widened in surprise. "How can you _do_ that? I have the Sight and I have my Voyance rune. You shouldn't be able to use a glamour like that!"

Sera cancelled the glamour rune and faded back to her true appearance. "I can do it because we're more alike than you know, Aspen. My runes are more powerful than even your mother's."

"How can that be possible?" Aspen whispered.

"Just trust me when I tell you that I'm working with a significantly higher concentration of Angel blood, okay?" She extended a bloody hand across the distance between them. "I'm Sera, by the way."

Aspen's lips quivered and she fought to keep herself from crying again. "We _were_ alike then, if that's the case. But now I've ruined everything." She buried her face in her hands and Sera watched uncomfortably, letting her outstretched hand fall back to her side awkwardly.

"I doubt you've ruined anything, let alone _everything_ ," Sera said as she levered herself back up to her feet. She had ripped herself out of her dream once she had seen what Aspen had intended with the poker. She had lost her chance to potentially see Rayce again, but she couldn't ignore the urgency with which she had woken. Grateful that she had just proved that she could Portal to a location she had seen in one of her true visions, she'd thrown herself forward into the freezing air with a flash and a gasp as an icy blast had cut through her leather jacket, and her injured leg had sunk into the snow outside the cabin.

"How did you even know to come here? And why would you?" the girl asked, eyes still wide at this strange woman who had appeared so suddenly.

"I came because I, probably more than anyone else, understand why you were about to do what you were going to do what that poker. I know what it's like to be... _different;_ what it's like to have your whole identity tied up in being special. I know you probably believed that you were going to fix whatever you think you've ruined, but believe _me_ – I just stopped you from making the worst mistake of your life."

Aspen turned her eyes down in shame and then heard the handle of the bedroom door turn behind her.

Hunter poked his head out, dark brown hair sticking up wildly on one side, and then his jaw dropped when he saw Sera. Bloody or not, Sera was still _hot._

Sera's eyes flicked to Hunter briefly, but then returned to where the girl was still hanging her head. She limped over and lifted Aspen's chin, pained by the tears she found there. "As for _how_ I got here... well... that's a bit of a long story. I'll give you the Coles Notes version if you promise to do the same for me with what happened to you two."

"Who's Cole?" Hunter asked, bewildered.

Sera smiled and shook her head, then asked if there was anything to eat. She needed to recharge after using so much energy against the Hellhounds and Portaling twice in such a short span of time while sustaining serious injuries from the demons. The _iratzes_ she had reapplied before passing out were long-since faded, and she finally let herself unzip the remnants of her right boot to see how bad it was.

A double-U of deep puncture marks were scarring over on her calf, their points joined by an angry red line of burned skin where the demon's slobber had eaten away at her flesh. She winced when she considered what her neck probably looked like. _Going to need to stock up on Vitamin E_ _for these scars._ Sera was surprised at how self-conscious she was already starting to feel about them, and having Hunter gawping at her wasn't helping her confidence.

Aspen set down a plate with a pair of PB&Js on it for Sera next to where the Shadowhunter was running her fingers along the new ridges of her calf. Sera looked up and raised her eyebrow. " _Actually_ peanut butter and jam, right? Nothing weird?"

The girl giggled, as intended, and promised that the sandwiches were safe. Sera urged Aspen to start telling her story while Sera wolfed down the food.

Sera fought to keep her face neutral as she listened, but it became more difficult as the girl attempted to explain what she had tried to do to save her parabatai from death. The feeling of desperation hit a little too close to home. She felt like she understood, though, and she continued to analyze the possibilities as Aspen told her about the tests that the ex-Silent Brother had put them through, and their subsequent results.

When she had finished, Aspen looked at Sera with hope in her eyes. "You have to know how to fix this, Sera. I didn't think anyone could ever be better than my mom with runes, but you are. You've gotta help us; why else would you be here?"

Sera dragged her finger through a smear of peanut butter on the plate thoughtfully. She had an idea, and even if it didn't work, it wouldn't hurt to try. But she wanted them to make an informed decision this time. Both of them.

"I'll tell you what I'm thinking, and then you tell me if it sounds right, okay?"

The pair nodded in unison, and Sera took a deep breath before starting. "Basically, Aspen, it sounds like you made a _parabatai_ bond with a guy who was almost dead." She turned her eyes to Hunter and held up her hand apologetically. "No offense."

"None taken," Hunter answered graciously.

"In addition," Sera continued, "you cheated the bond by making him 'Mark' you in return. For absolutely _anyone_ else, this never would have worked. Your rune on him would have melted away and refused to form, and the one you drew on yourself with his hand... I don't even know."

Aspen was nodding minutely as she remembered her mother's _iratze_ failing to take effect on Hunter's shoulder.

Sera held up her finger. "However, and please understand that I am guessing on instinct here, I think that you invoked _both_ of your parents' gifts that night. You gathered up all of the strength that your father's legacy gave you, then you used it to power your mother's ability and propel it beyond the natural bounds of what should and should not work. You _forced_ the rune to hold on to a life that was fading away."

Hunter's lips parted in surprise and he looked at Aspen in disbelief. "Asp, did you... did you _rune-rape_ me?"

She gaped back at him. "Not even funny," she whispered. She yanked the tattered throw pillow of the loveseat out from behind her back and started hitting him with it, emphasizing each whack with a huff. "Not. Funny. At. All."

Sera watched, amused, then reached out to pluck the pillow from Aspen's hands. "But surprisingly accurate, I think," she said, causing Hunter stick his tongue out at Aspen. "The parabatai bond is dragging both of you back toward that low point where you were joined, but you're sharing a mutual pool of strength that's allowing you to stay just ahead of the curve."

Inspired, Sera pulled the elastic out of her hair and folded it in half around the index finger of her right hand so that she could hold one loop on her right thumb, and hook the other with her left index finger. The teenagers looked on in confusion.

"It's like this," she explained. "My right index finger is the point of death, and the elastic represents your combined strength." Sera pulled down on the elastic with her left index finger, effectively dragging her thumb back until it was trapped against the 'death' finger. "So if I pull, let's say, 'Aspen', further away from death, it drags 'Hunter' closer." She reversed the mini tug-of-war by opening the gap between her right thumb and forefinger, which forced her left pointer back against the imaginary point of death.

Fear shone in Aspen's eyes as she watched the crude demonstration. As weird as it sounded, it was _exactly_ how they had been feeling.

Sera evened out the distance of 'Aspen' and 'Hunter' from the finger of death. "It can be balanced, but it leaves you both too weak. How am I doing?"

They exchanged a meaningful glance and then nodded slowly.

Aspen swallowed as she stared at the elastic. "What can we do, though?"

Sera grinned. "We need to increase the amount of available strength in your pool."

The girl shook her head. "I already tried that. I can Mark Hunter with Fortitude runes, but it doesn't change anything."

"Because you're borrowing from Peter to pay Paul, as the saying goes. You can't pay off your credit card bill with the same credit card, can you?"

"Dad said I can't get a credit card until I'm eighteen," Hunter offered. Both women stared daggers at him and he shrank back. "Sorry," he whispered apologetically. "I use humour to deal with stress. I think I get it from dad."

Aspen rolled her eyes at her parabatai and looked back at Sera. "Then how are you proposing we pay off the credit card?"

"With a permanent loan from a wealthy investor." Aspen's eyes lit up as she immediately grasped the metaphor. Hunter still looked lost, but at this point he was too afraid to ask. Aspen turned to him, smiling radiantly, and she pulled him into a crushing hug.

Hunter gasped as the air _whooshed_ out of his lungs. "I think," he wheezed, "I'm missing something."

Sera's eyes danced with the same excitement that shone in Aspen's, and she smiled back at him fiercely. "I'm offering you a permanent Fortitude rune, but I'm going to pack one hell of a punch into it."


	10. Chapter 10

**10**

Clary's breath puffed through the crust of ice that had built up on her scarf, and she adjusted the goggles she was wearing to cut the glare from the sun on the snow. She had been out at the ritual site with Tessa and Jem all morning, but it was time to head back to the cabin and thaw out over lunch once they met up with Helen and Aline.

She shook her head in amazement at the dedication of the two women. They had been combing the wards obsessively ever since the breaches had started; Clary wasn't even entirely sure they had managed to get any sleep in the last few days. The seemingly random scattering of incursions across the globe had frustrated them to no end, but they had dutifully recorded the locations and forwarded them in duplicate to Alicante and Alec. Everyone on Wrangel Island was tense about how many pinpricks had appeared. Never anything big, but it was enough to send small pockets of demons tearing through remote areas where there weren't any Shadowhunters on patrol.

Clary slowed and looked back over her shoulder as she waited for Tessa and Jem to catch up. They had fallen behind while engaged in a spirited debate about the demonic runes burned into the rocks. Clary could just make out Tessa's voice as the couple climbed the rise along a now well-worn path through the snow.

"The Ergothian markings are the easiest to read, and they will give us the best chance of deciphering the other ones that we don't recognize or that have been obscured over the centuries." Her light-brown curls bounced along on the back of her heavy coat from under where they were trapped by the coils of her scarf.

Jem sighed good-naturedly in a cloud of misted breath. "My Ergothian is terribly rusty. Will was always the clever one with languages." The sting of remembering his parabatai had faded in the time since he had reclaimed his mortality, and now it was a pleasant warmth in his breast to call up memories of a black-haired boy laughing over their lessons of demonic languages.

Tessa found Jem's hand and clasped it as best she could through the thick mittens they were both wearing. The years had been kind to Jem, but they were still marching forward inexorably. How many more years did she have left with him? Her heart clenched up as it always did when she allowed herself to dread their inevitable parting. She forced her voice to sound bright as she breathed life back into her first husband, if only for a moment. "Could you imagine if Will was here?"

Jem's smile was hidden by his scarf, but Tessa could see his goggles rise on his cheekbones as he smiled at the thought. "No," he replied. "Will wouldn't be up here. He would be charging about with Jace like a mad man to see which one of them could single-handedly stem the demon tide first."

"What's that about Jace?" Clary asked innocently as they reached her.

Jem cleared his throat and looked sideways at Tessa. "Fond memories," he answered vaguely.

Clary arched an eyebrow at him. "He really _has_ grown up, you know. He's only half-mad now."

Tessa laughed as they trudged forward in their heavy boots. "A half-mad Herondale is still twice as mad as anyone else." She tried to wag a finger at Clary, but the effect was ruined by the mittens. "I _know_ why he was sent on his most recent 'sabbatical' _._ "

Clary rolled her eyes behind her goggles, but was saved from defending her husband's sanity any further as they spotted Helen and Aline. She cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted down that it was time for lunch.

The two women climbed out of the shallow valley toward where Clary, Tessa, and Jem were waiting patiently for them, all conversation about mad Herondales temporarily set aside.

"You guys have perfect timing," Aline said as she and her wife reached the group. "We need to get back to the cabin ASAP."

Clary immediately felt a stab of worry in her chest. "What did you find?"

Aline exchanged a dark look with Helen before her eyes found Clary's. "A big breach. Bigger than Buenos Aires or Cairo."

All of the lighthearted chatter and academic conjecture was forgotten. Clary swallowed thickly. "Where?"

"Northern California. We'll pin down something more exact when we get back to the cabin, but Alec is going to need to hear about this. I know Jace thinks that all the little tears were placed to draw Shadowhunters away from Institutes, or barring that, to inflict maximum casualties without interference, but this one is huge. Whatever came through... it's going to be bad."

"Simon said that he and Izzy have just about reached the end of their contact list," Clary said hopefully. "So maybe Alec and Jace won't have to fight this one quite so short-handed. And who knows?" She threw up her hands. "Maybe Everett will actually _listen_ this time. Even _he_ can't ignore what happened in Egypt and Argentina."

"We can only hope," Helen said quietly.

The cabin came into view ahead, its chimney sending up a thin trailer of smoke from the fire within. As they approached the front door, Jem hurriedly thrust out his arm for them to stop, and he raised one mitten to his mouth to ask for silence. The four women looked at him in confusion as his hand moved slowly to point out a churned-up trail in the snow where someone had crashed through carelessly. The prints appeared out of nowhere and led straight to the cabin.

Aline's sharp eyes caught sight of the fireplace poker sticking out of a snowbank, and she crunched across the snow as quietly as she could to heft it questioningly.

Clary's eyes traced the path, and then widened in surprise. She pulled down her scarf, heedless of the cold, and mouthed to the others in horror. _Portal!_ If Everett's cronies had found them here... _The kids!_

Jem stepped forward lightly into a fighting stance and nodded to the others for them to ready themselves as he shucked off his gloves. They would need to be quick.

Sera tilted her bowl of microwaved chicken noodle soup and slurped the last of it down happily. What _was_ it about chicken noodle soup that was so goddamn good? She was tired, no, _exhausted_ , from what she had done for Hunter and Aspen, but she felt _great._

Having suffered through one disappointment after another in her search for Rayce's salvation, it was a relief to finally feel like she had accomplished something.

Hunter was stretched out full-length on the worn area rug that covered the middle of the cabin's common area, and he was energetically going through a workout of body-weight exercises to test his returning strength while Aspen watched with hope in her eyes. As the boy flipped over and started counting off push-ups, Sera was given another look at her handiwork.

Under a thin sheen of sweat across Hunter's muscular back, a huge Fortitude rune sprawled over his skin. The curving edges of the top of the rune crossed both of his shoulder blades, and the tail end of the Mark snaked all the way down to his lower back. Sera had never seen or heard of a rune either made or used like this, and she felt a small tingle of satisfaction that she been the first to do it.

She had, as promised, packed a punch into the rune as it had settled onto Hunter's back permanently, and she had been left gasping and struggling to stay conscious when she had taken her hands off him. She hadn't felt so drained by a rune since she had placed a powerful _mendelin_ on Rayce to hide him from the eyes of the Fey in the Seelie Court when they had stolen the crown. It seemed like ages ago, now.

Sera's vision flashed unexpectedly and she caught a glimpse of a fireplace poker before throwing herself sideways off the loveseat and skidding under the table with a startled, "Oh, shit!" Her bowl hit the floor just as the door crashed open and a man slipped inside, somehow managing lithe grace while bundled up in heavy winter clothes.

Icy air sliced into Sera and chased away whatever happy warmth she had been enjoying from the soup. _Enough with this effing cold!_ She held up her hands defensively from under the meagre cover of the table just as a woman pounced forward, fireplace poker in hand.

"Woah, woah, woah!" Sera shouted into the confusion as three more people crowded into the cabin.

"Mom, _wait -_ "

"No, Jem -" Hunter and Aspen's cries tangled as both of them shot forward. The boy managed to rugby-tackle Jem from the side as Aspen sank her fingers into the back of Clary's coat, not close enough to reach Aline.

Everyone drew up short and the tableau froze; bloody-haired Sera in her shredded clothes huddled under the table, Aline with the poker held high to strike, Jem groaning in a heap with the shirtless Hunter, Aspen desperately clutching her mother's coat, and Tessa and Helen bringing up the rear, trying to make sense of the strange scene.

Clary caught sight of Sera around Aline's legs and inhaled sharply. " _Sera?"_

The others looked back and forth between Clary and Sera. They had already heard about the extraordinary Shadowhunter, but they had a hard time reconciling the image with the reality of the exhausted woman before them.

Aline let the poker swing down sheepishly and instead held out an open hand to help her up. "Sorry about that."

Sera breathed a sigh of relief. "No worries. I would have done the same thing." She winced as she stood, rubbing thoughtfully at where she had landed hard on her elbow. "Although I probably would have bashed first and asked questions later."

Jem was sorting out which arms and legs were his own as Hunter apologized profusely from under him, and then the boy rolled over to push himself to his feet. Five shocked gasps followed the revelation of his new Fortitude rune.

"By the Angel, Hunter..." Clary whispered.

Aspen pulled at her mother's coat to turn her around until they were facing each other. Her gold eyes shone with excitement. "Mom, he's _better,"_ she breathed. " _We're_ better. Sera... she helped us." Aspen looked over at where Hunter was standing a little self-consciously, and her mother turned to stare as well.

Jem recovered first, closing his mouth to cover his surprise. He reached out toward Hunter hesitantly, his dark eyes seeking permission, and the boy turned around slowly to allow the ex-Silent Brother examine the rune more closely. Slim fingers trailed over the edges of the Mark delicately.

"Permanent," he murmured quietly to himself.

Clary was mesmerized as she moved over to stand next to Jem in awe. She pulled off her gloves and gaped at the scope of the rune. _Permanent_. Her mind slipped back a quarter of a century to when she had been young and foolish, barely aware of her own ability. She remembered all the times she had used her gift with nothing more than her instinct to guide her, with nothing more than a hope and a prayer that she would have the strength to make it work. The years had taught her patience and caution, and she had nearly forgotten the insanity of experimenting with lives at stake; most often her own, as she exceeded the limits of that strength.

She turned her head to find Sera. "The risk..."

Sera shared a knowing look with Clary and nodded reassuringly. "Was worth it. I know my limits." She held the red-head's gaze confidently.

"This," Clary said, gesturing at Hunter's Mark, "doesn't have any precedence. You couldn't have known what it would do to him... or yourself." Her green eyes flashed with the beginnings of a fiery challenge as her protective instincts flared up, but it was Tessa's quiet voice that cut her short.

"Adele Starkweather." Everyone in the room except Jem looked confused, so Tessa continued haltingly. "It was a mistake – a Mundane child exchanged for a Shadowhunter's by vengeful Faeries. She was weak, sickly, never born to live in our world." Tessa spread her hands helplessly. "Her first Mark was going to be a Strength rune to counteract her chronic weakness... but she was not Nephilim. She..." Silence fell, and Tessa bowed her head respectfully before finishing, "They never had a chance to see if it would work, but the Silent Brothers believed in it."

Jem nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, I can understand why." He looked at Sera appreciatively. "A pity that there are no Silent Sisters, Sera. You are gifted in many ways, it would seem."

Under his gentle gaze, Sera blushed at the unexpected praise. Actually blushed. She pushed her matted hair back behind one ear, embarrassed, as she tried to shrug it off. "I think I'd have a really hard time with the 'silent' part. And staying put in the City of Bones..." she trailed off as she shuddered. "I get itchy feet."

At the mention of travelling, Clary suddenly remembered the footprints in the snow outside and gasped again, drawing looks from the others. "Sera. How did you get here?"

Sera's eyebrows knit in confusion. "I Portalled."

"No!" Clary yanked the zipper down on her jacket as she felt a hot flash of fear course through her. "I _warned_ you – the Clave can _track_ runic Portals! You might have led them right to us!"

"Relax, I've been Portalling all over the world ever since Rayce accidentally became the new Lord of the Wild Hunt," Sera protested, shaking off Clary's concerns. "Nothing's happened. The Clave has bigger problems right now..." she trailed off as Clary's eyebrows practically climbed into her hairline.

"Rayce _what?"_ she squeaked.

Sera rubbed tiredly at the bridge of her nose, flaking off a bit of blood that had dried there. "Right. Yeah. So, a lot's happened..." As she had promised Hunter and Aspen earlier, she gave the assembled group a quick summary of everything that had happened since she and Rayce had left Idris. Stunned silence greeted her when she finished her tale.

She scratched at the back of her neck uncomfortably while trying to avoid seven sets of wide eyes, but she couldn't escape the shimmering blue-green gaze where tears sparkled like liquid crystal. Helen's delicate lips trembled.

"You spoke to my brother..." she began, and Sera was dumbstruck as she made the connection between the two half-faerie Blackthorns. _Too many Blackthorns... but only two shared Faerie blood! Idiot!_ She had been so wrapped up thinking about Rayce that she had never stopped to consider how far the ripples of her search could carry. She nodded mutely to Helen, silently inviting her to continue, to pass judgement on the insensitivity she had shown.

Helen drew a shuddering breath. "Then you know what fate awaits your prince even if you manage to free him from the cloak."

Sera nodded gravely. "I understand. But there _must_ be a way to reverse what was done. I just haven't found it yet." Her gold eyes looked around the room and she pushed away the pity that she could feel from the others. _I won't give up! Don't look at me like that!_

It was Jem who broke the quiet with his melodious voice. "Perhaps you must turn your search away from the Mortal world, Sera. If there is a way to free Rayce from the Hunt, it seems logical to think that the answer would be found in the realm of the Fey."

"Like the ballad of Thomas the Rhymer," Helen said. "My brother and I were told the tale when we were children – it's both a story and instructions on how to break someone free from Faerie."

"Yes!" Clary clapped her hands excitedly, red curls bobbing as she bounced on her toes. "I remember Alec using it to figure out which road led to Edom when the Seelie Queen tried to trick us!" She paused as she dredged deeper for the memory. "Something about paths to Heaven and Hell, or something like that..." She frowned as the rest of the story eluded her.

Jem nodded, and then looked back to Sera. "The Fey have many secrets Sera. The trick is figuring out how to get them to tell you what you want without losing more than you gain in the bargain."

Clary snorted. "Yeah. Actually, don't bargain with Faeries at all. They suck at coming through on their end."

Even Helen agreed, still bitter over how Iarlath and Kieran had so carefully worded their offer to allow her brother the choice between staying with his family or returning to the Hunt.

Sera's mind was already racing ahead. Look for answers in the Courts? _I'm sure they'll welcome me with open arms,_ she thought sarcastically. _Stole the Seelie crown... killed a few Faerie knights on the way out... no big deal. Water under the bridge now, right?_ Musing about bridges and water made her think about her unscrupulous and unlikely ally, Otherios. _Hmm..._

"Since you're already here," Clary interrupted Sera's chain of thought, "can you come and have a look at the ritual site? You only got to see my sketches before, but those all went up in flames with the manor." To her credit, her face stayed strong even with the reminder that she had lost everything when the Unseelie had betrayed Alicante.

Aspen put her arm around her mother's shoulders comfortingly, and Sera felt a tug in her chest. _Not everything._ She looked around the tiny living space in the cabin and felt an overwhelming connection to this ragtag band of survivors. She had never had a real family before, but she was getting the feeling that this is what it might be like. Their faces were so open, so filled with concern for her that she ached inside. They didn't even know her, but here they were, ready to jump in and offer advice and support to help save Rayce.

 _And some of them really_ are _Rayce's family,_ she remembered, trying to untangle the branches of his family tree. He was Helen's uncle; Clary's nephew; Aspen's cousin. He had more family than he knew, if only he could be broken free of the Hunt.

"Sure," Sera said. She found herself desperately wanting to give back, to help someone _aside_ from herself for a change. What she had done for Hunter and Aspen had filled a void that she hadn't even been aware of, and she was hungry for more.

"I'll come, too," Tessa volunteered.

Aline and Helen exchanged a glance, and Aline answered for them, "We'll stay. Alec needs to be warned about California. And we'll see how Everett responds to _my_ kind of warning." Her dark eyes narrowed threateningly.

Jem opted to remain in the cabin as well to begin studying the effects of Hunter's new Fortitude rune. Fascination sparkled in his eyes, and it was easy to see the shadow of his Brotherhood reawaken with his curiosity.

Sera touched Hunter's shoulder as Helen began gathering winter gear that would fit their unexpected guest, and the boy looked at her, still a little awestruck. "You'll have to be careful to protect your rune," she warned. "I'd rather not find out what would happen if it was damaged in any way."

Hunter's face lit up like Hanukkah had come early. "So what you're trying to tell me is that I can completely justify having..." he dropped his voice to a dramatic whisper, "a super-suit."

Aspen's eyes widened in horror. "Hunter, _no!_ "

"Hunter, _yes!_ " he shot back, grinning wolfishly."Dad is going to be _so_ jealous..."

His parabatai moaned audibly and shot a pained look at Sera, who only shrugged and held up her hands as if to say, _Not my problem._

Sera shoved her feet into Helen's boots after discarding the remains of her own, mourning silently for them as she pulled on a heavy coat and the rest of the outerwear for her trek to the ritual site. She was curious to see it, but she felt like she was being pulled in too many different directions at once. Her heart wanted to follow Rayce, her head wanted to follow Clary, and her stomach was wondering if it would be impolite to ask for some lunch to-go.

The three women left the cabin as Hunter excitedly began brainstorming concepts for his proposed super-suit. They headed back out into the cold gratefully and followed a path through the snow that sloped gently down toward the west side of the island. It wasn't long before they reached an area where the ice had been painstakingly cleared down to the bedrock right up against where it dropped off sharply to the rocky shore below. Frigid water churned off the coast, occasionally splashing up violently in a wall of foam as waves broke against the stone.

The area wasn't particularly large; it was probably less than twenty feet square. Sera could see piles of rubble that had been pushed to the edges of the site to reveal what had lain beneath them for centuries. Clary's sketches hadn't done the scene justice. She had come armed with a sketchpad and a Sharpie to dutifully continue documenting the area, though.

When they reached the transition from ice to stone, Sera was brought up short. There was a _charged_ feeling in the air, but it was laced with a creeping menace that made her shiver from more than just the cold. The diminutive redhead caught the involuntary flinch and nodded in understanding. "You can feel it, right?"

"Yes," Sera answered faintly, nauseated by the sensation that the conflicting runes were creating. "I can definitely feel it." Her boots left the crunching crust of the snow path as she stepped gingerly onto the cleared rock and winced. She carefully avoided the scorched runes that marked where Lilith and Sammael had made a permanent dent in the world's wards.

"You can step on them," Tessa said lightly. She proved the point by walking across the demonic sigils herself and joining Sera in the centre of the area while Clary crouched down and started sketching a detailed copy of the rune at her feet.

Two concentric circles of angelic runes carved in _adamas_ enclosed the two women, with the outer ring bearing larger markings than the inner. A third ring of ugly, blackened runes was laid over the original configuration like a chain of scars, but it was more elliptical, mocking the perfection of the circles it crossed. Spokes of both types of runes radiated outward to the edges of the site in a seemingly-random pattern.

Tessa gestured to the ellipse unnecessarily. "That's the problem up here. When Clary showed this to me and told me the theory that she's been working on with Helen and Aline, I performed a few minor tests to see what could be learned, and it wasn't encouraging."

"What's the theory?" Sera asked.

"That when Sammael and Lilith did this, they made sure that it couldn't be changed unless they returned. The runes of the ellipse are Ergothian, a demonic language that has fallen off a bit in our world ever since the archangel Michael hunted down Sammael and killed him a little over nine hundred years ago. Lilith and Sammael's blood was mixed to draw these runes, and then scorched into the rock with powerful dark magic."

Tessa continued in a more scholarly tone as she gave her impromptu lecture. "For someone to take control of the circle once more, they would need re-draw the sigils with the mixed blood of Sammael and Lilith. You can see the difficulty this presents? Even if Sammael was still alive, it would be nearly impossible to take blood from not one, but _two_ Greater Demons and then live long enough to do anything with it."

"But what did they _do_?" Sera was turning on the spot slowly to gape at the enormity of the site's intricacy.

Clary looked up from where she had knelt down, and she pointed to the concentric rings of _adamas_ runes. "The smaller circle represents us, the Mortal world. The ring around it symbolizes the protection laid down by Heaven's hand to protect us from the Void. The theory goes that the ellipse of demonic power pressing up against our happy little bubble is allowing corruption to seep over and create raw spots where the demons can force their way through."

Sera blinked. She had never really given any thought to any of this. The runes scattered across the rock tugged at her and she shuffled closer, aghast at the thought of stepping on either set of markings. It felt sacrilegious. She could feel her memory soaking up the patterns, and more importantly, the _feeling_ of the place. As she had previously hammered into Steven, sometimes the answers weren't always found in what was seen, but in what was sensed.

Clary waved her hand vaguely back in the direction they had come. "The anchor points located across the island are like the intersections of the strands on a spider's web. When an insect becomes snared, the spider can feel the vibrations and follow them to the source. Helen and Aline have developed an incredible process for tracking the disturbances that larger demons, or groups of demons, make then they step on our hypothetical web of protection, and that's how they are able to pin down the locations of breaches when they occur." Clary rose and gestured to the ritual site. "But this place has been covered in rubble, snow, and ice for centuries, probably since the Incursion, so we were never able to understand _how_ the damage was done."

Sera's eyes flicked across each rune around her quickly, bouncing from one to the next. _Extraordinary._ The array was mesmerizing, and she felt a much stronger pull than she had felt in the conservatory of Herondale Manor while looking at a sketch of the site. She didn't notice when her breathing quickened into a shallow panting as each new symbol clambered for her attention in a crush of urgency, and so it came as a complete surprise when her knees buckled and she hit the stone.

The fingers of her right hand brushed against the edge of the closest demonic sign, and then Wrangel Island was swept away as a powerful vision dragged her down into a dark cavern where Rayce was bound to a twisted tree that had grown out of the rock impossibly.

 _Sera watched in horror as a silver whip whistled down and cracked across Rayce's back, leaving another bloody slash. He unclenched his jaw with a hiss and exhaled._

" _Ten."_

"Rayce!" Sera screamed. Her eyes flew open, wrenching her away from the Unseelie Court.

Both Tessa and Clary rested their mittened hands on Sera's back while she panted on her hands and knees, but they couldn't do anything to help. Sera knew the truth of what she had seen; it was happening now.

 _You were supposed to stay away!_ Sera clutched her arms around her chest tightly as she rocked back and forth, reeling from the abruptness of the vision that had been triggered so unexpectedly. What had happened to her warning?

"Sera?" Clary asked tentatively.

The younger Shadowhunter shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut. _What didn't I see? What went wrong?_ She had only planned for one possible outcome of her vision; she hadn't considered any of the other chains of causality that could have occurred. _And now he's paying for my mistake._

She felt the reassuring, steady presences of the two women with whom she shared so much. One protected by her father while he had been imprisoned within a clockwork angel, the other forever altered by his blood. But she couldn't linger in the safety and comfort they provided.

"I've been here too long," Sera whispered as she let her arms fall back to her sides. "I can't stay." She plucked the Sharpie from Clary's mitten and scribbled a phone number on a blank page. "Call my friend Seraphine Lark. She can help you with all of this." Guilt about not being able to do enough gnawed at her, but she was falling behind, and Seraphine would be a huge help up here.

Clary's eyes were worried behind the brown tint of her goggles as she took the sketchpad back. "But where will you go?"

Sera exhaled slowly, watching as her breath rose in a fog. She hated asking for help, but the sickening vision she had just seen was more than enough to convince her to swallow her pride. Maybe Jem was on to something. She looked out over the ritual site once more before turning her gaze back up to Clary.

"To cash in a favour."


	11. Chapter 11

**11**

Screams of terror echoed faintly on the winds of the world, tearing Rayce away from memories of Sera as he drowsed in and out of consciousness in a nest of long grass on a Scottish moor. He tried to push the screams away, but his curse pressed down on him even as he resisted it. The Eternal Forest was hungry for more, and it had chosen its next feast.

There was nowhere in the world to hide from the Forest's call; thousands of miles could separate the Hunt from a battlefield and still the sounds of death would reach him. Gwyn had never found a pattern to unravel the lust of the sinister trees. He had collected his grim harvests, both great and small, without question through the centuries, and the Forest would now expect Rayce to do the same.

He sat up as he heard the cries of children being slaughtered, and he clapped his hands over his ears frantically to block it out, but still they shrilled. Rayce could hear the snarl of monsters under the screams. His eyes squeezed shut. _No, please!_

Rayce sat paralyzed as the sounds of butchery continued unabated. He could practically see the blood pumping out of ghastly wounds as Mundanes fell prey to monsters in the night, and the harder he tried to force it away, the more insistent the Forest was in its need. His teeth clenched together and he hissed in pain as flares of agony ignited in his head. The Forest would not be denied.

Buried under the pleas for mercy, he thought he heard the sharp twang of a bowstring snap, and it gave him a glimmer of hope. _Perhaps some will escape_.

Staggering under the blinding, nauseating assault of the Forest, he stumbled back toward where he had left the Hunters camped, and he felt some of the strain ease as a reward for behaviour that pleased the Forest. A shiver of anticipatory pleasure for the feeding slid through his body and he reeled in disgust as he tried to separate it from his own emotions.

The pounding headache followed him back across silent hills until he found the muted glow of a few fires still burning low.

Most of the Hunters looked to be asleep, wrapped in thin blankets or huddled under cloaks close to one another. The few who were awake took note of his return, their black eyes glittering in the firelight while coloured irises flashed like wolf's eyes.

Rayce caught sight of his brother sitting alone, seeming not to notice him as he hunched forward to warm himself with the heat from his tiny fire. The light showed the ugly stumps that now rose from his shoulder blades when he shifted uncomfortably, trying to adapt to life without the great, black wings. Rayce regretted what had been done to Bael under Cadair Idris, but he couldn't change it now.

Careful to keep his hands relaxed at his sides to betray no sign of the Forest's impatience, he straightened under the mantle he wore and raised his voice.

"The dead call," he barked. "The Hunt rides."

Heads lifted wearily from dirty bundles of spare clothes, and he saw exhaustion in the eyes of many. The Forest worked them hard, and it was difficult for some of the lesser-Fey to recover their strength between journeys to deep Faerie. Others were not so easy to control.

"You are arrogant to believe you may command us with impunity, little princeling." A tall, lithe Hunter rose from where he had been sitting with two others, some of the few who had disdained sleep. Dirty, white-gold hair fell in matted locks down his back, held back by what looked like a worn coronet worked in a delicate filigree of silver. His eyes were mismatched with black and a pale blue that was so faded that it seemed almost colourless. He wore chipped, white armour that was stained dark in places, and some pieces had been replaced from sets that didn't match. _Vindictus_ , Gwyn's memories sighed in Rayce's mind around the throbbing ache.

"You are foolish to believe that I will not find a tree in the Eternal Forest for _you_ just as easily as I found one for Kratus," Rayce threw back. He felt a flash of warning from the Forest as he made his threat. One sacrifice and the violence of the moment had been thrilling, but it needed its Hunters to remain intact to continue servicing its needs.

Anger burned in the Hunter's eyes, pride blazing to life. "I spent countless centuries at my King's side as one of his most prized advisors in martial strategy. I was not born to kneel to a Shadowhunter." He sneered. "Your kind did not even exist when I first opened my eyes in this world."

"Yes," Rayce said coldly. "I can see the regard your King must have had for you. So much that you've ended up here." He moved forward until his eyes were level with the Faerie's, and he lowered his voice. "And you would do well to remember that there has never been anyone quite like me before, Vindictus." Confusion clouded the Hunter's eyes, either at how Rayce had known his name, or for trying to figure out his ancestry; it didn't matter.

Because really, what was Rayce? Half-Shadowhunter, half-faerie, yes. But his Shadowhunter side had been tainted by the blood of the first demon, the mother of warlocks, Lilith herself. And the Seelie Queen had been among one of the few surviving Greater Fey, the daughter of a Greater Demon and an angel, the rarest of true Faeries.

A small, squat Hunter pushed forward. He lacked all the fine lines that marked Faerie gentry. Coarse, black hair sprouted around the nubs of horns around the mottled red and grey patches on his skull, and rough, uneven facial hair masked the lower half of his face. Lacking a proper razor, it was clear that he shaved with a dagger and without a mirror. His squashed nose was pinned over a cruel mouth that barely concealed the rotting or missing teeth within. Skinny legs tapered down in satyr-fashion to end in cloven hooves. _Fiorinor_.

His breath was foul with decay as he jabbed an accusatory, grimy finger up at Rayce. "What will you do, _my Lord_? Kill any Hunter who despises taking orders from a jumped-up Nephilim shit?"

Rayce's hand shot out faster than Fiorinor could follow, and he twisted the offending finger sharply. The crack was audible as it broke, and the Hunter grunted in pain, dropping to his knees, but Rayce refused to let go. "You don't have to _like_ me, Fiori." He used the informal name easily, bolstered by Gwyn's familiarity with the Hunters. "You only need to _obey_ me."

The Lord of the Hunt raised his eyes challengingly to sweep over the others who had now finished rising from their hasty pallets. Kieran stood in the darkness near the back of the crowd, his face obscured by shadows. Most of the Hunters bowed their heads to avoid Rayce's gaze, cowed into submission for now, but another of the gentry cast-offs stood with his arms crossed, unimpressed.

Midnight-blue hair fell over his right eye, hiding the Hunt's tell-tale colour so that he could pretend to the world that he still bore the twin black eyes of his heritage. He was a few inches shorter than Rayce, and his complexion was dusky, lending an exotic feel to his finely-sculpted face. He had clearly made an effort to keep himself free from the filth that marked so many of the other Hunters. Any wings, tail, or other token of Faerie heritage wasn't immediately evident, and Rayce wondered darkly if whatever had marked him had been cut away when he had been bound to the Hunt, as had been done to Bael.

He met Rayce's eyes and rose to the challenge he saw there. "How long can you watch your back, princeling?" He called across the distance that separated them. A few of the Hunters turned to see who had spoken and were unsurprised to find Azad.

The left side of Rayce's mouth twitched up almost imperceptibly. _So, you want to play with me?_ With only a thought, he _shifted_ behind the Hunter, his strong hands suddenly holding the two halves of the steelwood staff as he split it in a quarter of a heartbeat. When he rematerialized in a swirl of black wisps, the wickedly-sharp blades were crossed against the Faerie's throat, gently scraping the vulnerable flesh.

"Longer than you," Rayce whispered in his ear. He held Azad in the circle of his arms a moment longer to let the message sink in, and then vanished once more, returning to a safe distance to address the others. "Mount up," he ordered.

Ghostly horses coalesced and skeletal mounts rose from the earth as each Hunter summoned their steed. Rayce's own fiery black warhorse materialized at his side, snorting flames and stamping molten hooves, eager to carry him toward the field of death where the screams had already quieted in the wind. Only bodies would remain when they arrived for the harvest.

But he wasn't quite ready yet. Rayce crossed the trampled grass to where Fiorinor was scrambling up onto the red, scaled back of the reptilian mount he favoured. Casually, the Shadowhunter seized a handful of the Faerie's clothing and pulled him down, catching him by surprise. The creature vanished back into the ether as its master was dismounted.

Rayce pinned Fiorinor under one knee and held the bucking Hunter. "Except you," he said. "You will remain here until I summon you, as a reminder that you don't have to _like_ me to serve me as a dog would its master."

Fiorinor snarled indignantly, and Rayce lifted a finger in warning. "Be silent." Helpless to disobey a direct order, the Hunter was forced to continue his struggle mutely.

"Sit," Rayce commanded, rising from where he had the other pinned. The ugly Faerie glared murderously at him, but complied.

"Stay."

Rayce mentally called his mount and swung himself up into the saddle. The horse tossed its head spiritedly, sensing the mood, and Rayce urged it forward with a light touch. He looked back over his shoulder at the Hunter who was now trapped only by the cloak's forced compulsion.

"Good boy."

Rayce dismissed the Faerie from his thoughts and lifted off from the moor, leaving the earth behind to race along the winds of the world to find the killing field for which the Eternal Forest hungered.

Miles melted away below the ill-assorted feet of the Hunt's Faerie steeds, and Rayce quietly despaired over how difficult it was to control the Hunters.

In the void created by Gwyn's death, Rayce lacked his predecessor's breeding and reputation. The others had each respected the big Faerie to some extent, and had served without rebellion for hundreds of years. Rayce had held the cloak for... well, he wasn't sure how long, but cracks were already running through the Hunt. Azad's mocking question haunted him. _How long can you watch your back?_

Savagely, he wished for just a moment that he could wipe out the entire Hunt.

"I'd do it," Sebastian's voice purred in his ear.

Rayce started violently and whipped his head back to look for his father, but there was no one there. _What's happening to me?_ He hoped that none of the other Hunters had seen their leader jumping at voices in the wind.

Shaking off his father's dark suggestion with lingering unease, Rayce gathered up his scattered thoughts. Even if he could somehow bring himself to murder every Hunter before the Eternal Forest broke his mind, what would it mean for the world? The Fey depended on the ley energy of the earth, and the fastest way to renew it was through blood sacrifice to the twisted trees. The Heart of the World naturally produced the magic at its own pace, but not in sufficient quantity to satisfy the needs of both the Seelie and Unseelie Courts. He didn't understand enough of how everything was connected, but Gwyn's memories of why the Hunt had been formed were evidence enough that there would be consequences for the Fey.

 _And what about me?_ If the other Hunters lay dead at his feet, their blood on his hands, would he then turn his blades on himself? As long as he lived, a new crop of Hunters could be created and pressed into service. It would never end. He wondered if he could find the strength to take his own life to spare the world.

Sera's face bloomed in his memory and shame flooded through him. _I could never do that to her,_ he swore. A world with Sera in it was one he still wanted to live in, no matter the cost. Thinking about her warmed him, thawing the ice that had been building in his heart.

He allowed himself to caress the most dangerous memory he had, and called up their last kiss, her final words to him. _Have faith._ His heart pounded in his chest, shattering the last of the despair's cold grip as hope dispelled it. Whether it was merely the memory of his fierce, beautiful saviour, or something more, he felt closer to her now than he had since leaving her in the rain on Seraphine's balcony.

The Hunt descended through heavy clouds, revealing a mosaic of rolling crops and fields spread out below them. Rayce could feel how close they were to the dead as the Forest relaxed its grip on his mind and he breathed easier.

As Rayce guided his steed to where the slaughter had started, he thought he saw a flash of light a few fields away, but when nothing more happened, he dismissed it as sunlight reflecting off metal somewhere, forgetting that it was too overcast for that.

The Hunt dropped from the sky all along the shredded ground that had been torn up by what looked like claws. Its length was littered with the bodies of Mundanes who had been brought down by... Rayce searched his memory, but came up blank.

"What would do this?" he wondered quietly to himself, appalled by the senseless, indiscriminate violence.

"Hellhounds, my Lord." Caelus stood respectfully a few paces behind him, and Rayce aimed a mental kick directly at his own ass for not realizing one of the Hunters had actually chosen to land near him. _How long can I watch my back? Oh, a few hours, maybe,_ he berated himself sarcastically.

The Faerie watched him curiously, but without hostility. "I don't believe I can recall a time when such a large pack has broken through the wards at once, though." He moved forward, guiding Rayce across several properties and gesturing to indicate where the Hounds had started their butchery. "A dozen, I would guess, to have caused so much damage."

Vindictus was crouched over a pair of bodies nearby, carelessly looting wedding bands from their dead hands, and he spat into the red-streaked mud as Rayce and Caelus reached him. "Their blood will speed the recovery of the Forest; it looked terrible after wiping Alicante off the map."

Rayce's felt as if his heart had dropped through his stomach. "After what?"

A smile spread across Vindictus' face as he saw the effect his words had on Rayce. "You heard me, _my Lord_. Ashes and embers by now, I would think." He threw his head back and laughed uproariously, boasting, "My King was planning this before you ever squirmed your way out of your mother, boy!"

Confusion washed through Rayce as he tried to comprehend what the Faerie was bragging about. He seized Gwyn's memories and tore through them as he distanced himself from Vindictus. Caelus was a silent shadow at his side.

He found the day Vindictus had been given to the Hunt and was shocked to find that it had been barely two years earlier. No wonder the man was still so filled with pride; he hadn't been a prisoner long enough to have had it beaten out of him. Rayce rifled through the memories rapidly and learned that Vindictus actually _had_ been in the Unseelie King's inner circle, but that he had overreached in his ambition.

Directing the incredible amount of energy into a single, devastating blow through the secret ley network hooked into homes and buildings in Alicante would leave the King incredibly weakened, nearly defenseless. Vindictus had thought to use the opportunity to eliminate the King in the aftermath and seize the Unseelie throne for himself, but his plans had been betrayed, and the Faerie Lord had consigned his advisor to the Hunt in a fit of irony. Vindictus would be enslaved to feed the Forest and watch from the sidelines as the city was destroyed, but Gwyn's oath would keep the devious Faerie in line. The traitor had accepted his sentence with a smile and had congratulated his old friend on outfoxing him in the struggle for power and for passing down such a fitting punishment.

"Is this all we are, Caelus?" Rayce felt his anger building. Betrayal after betrayal, plots under plots, back-stabbing back-stabbers.

"My Lord?"

"The Fey. _The Fair Folk_. Would the world think us so fair if they could see the ugliness in our hearts? Everywhere I look, I see Faeries clawing their way to the top over the bodies of friends and family." His eyes automatically lifted to search for his brother, and he saw Bael on one knee next to a dead man in a red flannel jacket, pawing through the pockets. Scavenging from the dead. _What have we become?_

The Seelie and Unseelie dead that the Hunt had taken to the Forest following his sister's ascension to the throne had been different. Most had been warriors, and had been slain in combat, died honourably with weapons in hand. Rayce himself had laid waste to entire squads of Unseelie as he had carved a path to the throne room for Arynessa and her allies. That was battle. He understood it. Had been raised on it. But this...

Caelus remained silent, unable or unwilling to answer Rayce's question.

Rayce looked around at the massacre helplessly. _They should have been protected._ He thought of his Shadowhunter blood and shook his head bitterly. _In a different life,_ I _would have protected them._

He followed the scar that the chase had left across the fields until he found his brother standing a short distance away from the red-coated man Rayce had seen him with, his back to the other Hunters, pillaging complete.

"Satisfied with your spoils, brother?" Rayce asked harshly, perhaps with more venom in his voice than he had intended.

"Very," Bael answered earnestly before he bowed his head slightly and excused himself.

Rayce drifted over to where a Mundane lay stricken in death, and his stomach lurched as he caught sight of a little girl curled in the arms of her father. He crouched down and gently closed the man's eyes.

There was nothing he could have done to save them in life, but he could still preserve their dignity in death. The Hunters had mostly finished their grim looting to pay their tithes to the Courts, and were beginning to summon the sledges they used to ferry the dead to deep Faerie.

"Leave them!" Rayce ordered, lifting his voice to carry across the fields. Stunned, bifurcated stares looked back at him in disbelief, and he drove the message home. "The Hunt will reap no harvest here."

He heard hisses and dangerous muttering pass between pairs and small groups of Hunters as they unceremoniously dropped the bodies.

"My Lord," Caelus warned softly at his side. "The Hunt has a duty to nourish the Eternal Forest. I do not believe that it is optional." His black and brown eyes were surprisingly gentle.

Rayce clasped the slim Faerie's shoulder in silent thanks, but he shook his head. Now that he knew the truth of the forest, he refused to feed the monstrous weapon that the Unseelie had twisted to their own selfish uses.

"Then I will bear the consequences."

An inhuman screech of rage shattered through his skull as the Eternal Forest wailed for its lost feast and Rayce couldn't help but drop to his knees in agony, hands clapped over his ears even though he knew by now that it was useless.

That was when a terrible clanging ripped through the air, audible to all of the Hunters, and its jarring, discordant note reverberated through Rayce as the Forest's cry faded. Doubled-over from the dual assault on his senses, he couldn't see the knowing smiles creeping across some of the Hunter's faces.

The Unseelie Court had summoned the Lord of the Hunt.

A maelstrom whipped up around the Hunters as earth magic was invoked to forcibly recall them to the Unseelie Court. Rayce was powerless to resist the summons; the King had been careful with his enchantment to ensure that Gwyn would remain obedient to the thrones one way or another.

Wind tore at Rayce's cloak and filled his ears, deafening him with its throaty keening as he was swept away with the others in the grip of an unrelenting zephyr. The world spun in a dizzying blur until he finally had to close his eyes to stop the sickening rush of images.

When his feet touched down on solid rock once more, he opened his eyes and saw a dimly-lit tunnel of black stone. Hunters dotted the tunnel behind him, stretching back out of sight in the darkness.

Caelus touched Rayce's shoulder gently. "We may go no further, my Lord. You must go on alone from here."

Rayce nodded and turned to follow the passage, leaving the rest behind. Fear boiled in the pit of his stomach. He had agreed to accept the consequences, but he hadn't thought that payment would come due quite so quickly.

 _Coward_ , he swore at would Zeke think of him worrying about a chastisement like a child? If his tutor could see him now, Rayce had a feeling that his advice would be more along the lines of, "Give 'em hell!"

Fire rushed through Rayce, and he felt his anger renew itself at the thought of Mundanes being treated as no more than fodder for the Unseelie's dark designs. He squared his shoulders back and straightened up to his full height, an inch over six feet. One of the curving blades of his staff rose above his shoulder where the great cloak was pushed back to make room for it, and Gwyn's sword hung from his belt comfortably. He truly looked like the rightful Lord of the Hunt.

The dark mantle billowed out behind him as he crossed the deserted Unseelie throne room, the summons still burning through him to guide the way. He spared only a glance at the crudely-carved seat of power that rose from the centre of the shadowy cavern, but it was enough to recognize it from the scrying mirror he had seen during his mother's audience with the King so many years ago.

Not far from a side entrance to the throne room, Rayce stepped through a warded doorway into a cavern with smooth, stone walls. Deep blue Faerie lights illuminated the space, and a map covered the far wall next to a large mirror. The room's true glow came from the floor in the centre of the room.

Shattered stone lay strewn around the room as if something heavy had been broken in haste, and Rayce thought he could recognize the remains of a tabletop and some chairs in the wreckage. Amidst the pieces, a flickering font of ley energy pulsed weakly from a gash in the rock. The Unseelie King sat heavily at the edge of it with another Faerie standing over him watchfully. The second Faerie had deep green skin and hair, and his cruel yellow eyes flicked up with an eager gleam.

The King was breathing shallowly as Rayce stalked in, but his head snapped up when he felt the Shadowhunter cross through the ward against eavesdropping.

"You-" he said, deep voice dripping with hatred for a son of Sammaradriel.

"You _dare!_ " Rayce interrupted him, furious now that he had someone upon which to unleash all the pent-up anger that had been building up inside. "You _dare_ to use the earth's magic for revenge? To _steal_ from the lifeblood of your people? To _destroy_ the city of the Nephilim?"

Impossibly, the Unseelie King seemed stunned by the unexpected outburst. His advisor looked... pleased?

Rayce refused to relent, and he searched his own memories for once, grasping for a trigger that his mother had used, but it was Gwyn's memory that had to supplement his child's recollection. He refused to give a murderer an ounce of respect, King or not. "Your betrayal could ignite a war between the Shadowhunters and the Fey! You are selfish beyond all belief, Luchaereon."

The lights guttered in their sconces and then dimmed unexpectedly, and the King's black eyes seemed to soak up the remaining light as they glittered with malice. Rayce felt a stab of fear, and his momentum faltered for a moment, but he refused to give in.

"I won't serve-" He felt his throat tighten, strangling his voice down to a wheeze before silencing him completely. Gasping soundlessly, his hands flew to his throat in panic, but he remained voiceless.

"Oh, my," the green-skinned Faerie said, _tsking_ in mock-dismay. "Such passion."

The King's eyes fixed on Rayce's. "You _will_ serve, boy." He tilted his head to look up questioningly at the other Faerie, and received a nod of assent in return.

"I believe you need a reminder that even as your Hunters must bow to you, so, too, must you bow to me. You are a slave and nothing more. And slaves are punished for disobeying their masters. Iarlath?"

Rayce felt a thrill of terror and tried to turn back, to run, but he was frozen by the King's command over the bearer of the cloak. Dread seeped through him as the Faerie called Iarlath reached into his rich robes to withdraw a handful of blood-red stones. Smiling wickedly, he cast them down and they shivered for a moment before a gnarled tree began to twist upwards.

Sharp branches tipped with razor-like ends spread out from the trunk and scarlet leaves bloomed in seconds to flutter eagerly, hungrily. The young quickbeam stood patiently, a sapling of the Eternal Forest that would live for a short time before its magic recalled it to its mother. But now it waited to feed.

An invisible hand pushed Rayce toward the tree, and his feet skidded across the stone, sliding through the smaller chunks of rock from the shattered remains of the table as he tried to dig in and stop himself. It was hopeless. He couldn't resist. Guilt flashed through him as he realized that he had abused his power in much the same way with Fiorinor. _Am I no better than the King?_

His arms shook as they lifted over his head against his will, and Iarlath stepped forward, uncoiling a length of dark leather cord from an inside pocket of his robe. The bindings bit into Rayce's wrists as Iarlath bound them tightly to the quickbeam, nearly breathless with excitement.

Rayce tried to _shift_ out of the King's grasp, but his gift was paralyzed by the magic as well. _Trapped._ His heart raced in his chest as he ran out of options.

With a sharp _snick_ , the cloak fell away from his shoulders and Rayce's eyes widened in disbelief for a moment before he realized that nothing had changed with his connection to the Hunt; even Gwyn had been able to remove the cloak, its binding always intended to be more symbolic than literal.

Iarlath undid the harness that held Rayce's staff and it clattered to the floor of the cavern. The Faerie ripped away the Shadowhunter's black tunic and let it fall, leaving Rayce bare from the waist up. Pulling a black-handled silver whip from his belt almost reverently, Iarlath backed away from Rayce and waited for his King's command to begin the punishment.

The King's deep voice was heavy. "The Eternal Forest must be sated, and if it cannot have the blood it craved, it shall have yours instead." His hand flicked toward Iarlath and then fell back into his lap tiredly. Rayce heard the Forest's scream of rage once more in his memory and realized belatedly that the wail had been extended to the King as well; a child throwing a tantrum at its father's feet. No wonder the summons had come so quickly.

Rayce closed his eyes, trembling imperceptibly, and he reached for Sera with his heart. He didn't wish for a second that she was here, for her to see him like this, but he could borrow her strength, wrap himself in memories of her to block out the pain. He could almost feel her pressed up against his back, and he felt his lips curve up as he remembered waking up next to her in Idris after a perfect night together. He ached to have those hours back, to be with her just one more time.

The first crack of the whip slashed down viciously with only a moment's warning as he heard it whistle through the air when Iarlath drew back for the strike. His whole body tensed up, bucking forward under the searing lash, but the King's strangle-hold on his voice kept him from crying out, and he was bitterly pleased that they wouldn't have the satisfaction of hearing him scream.

He clenched his eyes closed and drew Sera back to him. He could feel her hands on his face, stroking his cheekbones tenderly, and he sighed silently. _Sera._

Then the second blow fell, carving a bloody line down his back, and he sagged forward again, pain ripping through him as he gasped soundlessly.

"You will count the lashes out loud, child. It has been nearly twenty years since I've listened to the sweet screams of the Nephilim under my whip – I won't be cheated now. More lashes can be added if you require additional motivation to obey." He paused, waiting for Rayce to respond.

Boiling rage twisted inside Rayce. His features hardened, eyebrows drawing down as his mouth twisted. "Two," he seethed through his teeth, the King's gag released. Shame burned through him at his submission to the Unseelie's dark game, but he had already lost this round. All that was left was to survive and win the war. _He'll pay for this, I swear it._

Satisfaction almost glowed in the sorcerer's yellow eyes, and he sent the silver length of his whip slicing through air and flesh once more.

Rayce's breath rushed out of him as he half-screamed, half-grunted hoarsely. A trio of burning welts bled across his back, and his blood ran freely now. His fingernails dug into the bark as he fought back against the pain. It was harder to remember Sera now. "Three."

Iarlath's laughter filled the warded room. No one outside would be able to hear the torture within. His amusement seemed to bounce off the walls until it sounded like two voices cackling, but Rayce couldn't reconcile the thought of laughter with the dark King who looked so exhausted.

His knees buckled as the fourth lash fell across the first three and a scream ripped its way free from his throat. The leather cords cut brutally into his wrists as he writhed and tried to get his feet back under him. He panted, chest heaving as tears blurred his vision. His head fell forward, and hot streaks ran down his cheeks.

"Another, to help you remember?" Iarlath called out sweetly.

"Four," Rayce gasped, still struggling to stand.

Red coloured his vision when he lifted his head and confusion filled him as he tried to understand where it was coming from.

A calloused hand reached out to lift Rayce's chin and his heart sank.

"No..." he whispered.

"You'll have to beg more prettily than that, princeling," Iarlath taunted, unable to see the spectre of Sebastian Morgenstern standing before his son.

Another crack split the air and the whip cut more deeply than any of the previous strikes, either on purpose or accidentally; Rayce couldn't tell. His fingers curled up in agony and his entire body stiffened as he tried to escape the searing blow, unwillingly crying out again. Sweat dampened his white locks and trickled down his temple.

Sebastian shook his head in disapproval. "I bore this much better than you, Rayce, and I doubt that the Faerie has as strong an arm as Valentine did."

"Five," Rayce choked out. Fire raced unchecked across his back and he tried to blink away the sight of his father. _You aren't real!_ He couldn't tell if he screamed it out loud or in his head, but it never seemed to matter.

Sebastian unzipped the scarlet jacket he wore and shrugged out of it, dropping it carelessly to the stone floor of the cavern. He turned so that Rayce could see the raised pattern of scars that disfigured his father's pale skin. Horror flooded through Rayce even as the sixth lash sliced into him brutally. He could taste blood, but he couldn't remember if it was because he had bitten his lip or because his throat had been ripped raw.

Turning his head so that he could watch his son's reaction, Sebastian's lips curved up into a tiny smile as he heard the boy faintly count, "Six." He circled around to survey the damage and let out a low whistle as the next line split Rayce's skin and the blood ran thicker.

"You're more and more like me every time I see you," Sebastian observed, running one slim finger down his son's back between two of the lacerations.

"I'm-" Rayce's head lolled sideways and his thoughts scattered, broken by the blinding pain of the whip. "I don't have to-" he whispered.

"If you can't keep count, we'll have to begin again," the sorcerer teased.

Rayce shook his head, trying to clear it. This was too much. His mind was paralyzed in a haze of pain. _How many? How many left? How many more can I take?_ Panic gripped him at the thought of starting over. "Seven," he croaked.

Sebastian crossed back in front of him and sighed heavily. "I just don't understand _why_ you're fighting me so hard." He tenderly brushed a spill of hair away from Rayce's left eye, the black iris almost identical to his father's. "Do you have any idea how much easier everything becomes when you let go of all your illusions?"

Rayce staggered again as Iarlath's whip laid into him for the eighth time, high on his right shoulder, drawing a whole new world of pain from a place that hadn't yet started to go numb. His breath hissed in and out unevenly, but he remembered to count, fearful. "Eight," he slurred.

He closed his eyes, but he couldn't block out his father's hypnotizing voice. "You shouldn't have to live a lie, Rayce. You are my _son_ , a Morningstar. _Accept_ what you are! You _are_ a killer. Stop pretending!"

Rayce wept helplessly under the twin onslaughts against his body and mind, from both sorcerer and phantom. The Unseelie King's words whispered in his mind again, _'You are a slave and nothing more.'_ He felt again the Eternal Forest's crushing greed and hunger for blood. Was this to be his life now? Was this all he had left to look forward to? A coldness crept through him, soothing the inferno raging across his back. Could his father be right?

Lost in a fantasy where pain was numbed, he barely registered the ninth blow, and only absently counted it. He dared to imagine casting off the heavy weight of guilt that he carried for everything that had happened, for the lives he had taken. Because his father was right. He _was_ a killer. He'd been trained for it all his life. How much blood was on his hands just since his mother had died? Since meeting Sera?

 _Sera._

The fantasy shattered. _Can't lose her._ He gritted his teeth in concentration. The icy numbness vanished as he reached out for Sera with all the remaining strength in his heart, and Sebastian snarled in displeasure. Rayce pushed him aside with his mind and strained to hold on to Sera. _Help me!_

A ghostly apparition rippled to life for a moment in front of him and his eyes opened in shock. _Sera!_

The tenth lash split the air like a thunderclap and dug another grisly furrow, forcing the air from his lungs once more as he hissed, "Ten."

Rayce saw panic reflected in Sera's eyes, and he watched as she screamed his name silently, throwing her head back in frustration before vanishing as quickly as she had appeared. He hung limply from the leather cords as blood streamed down his back and shock set in. _Sebastian... Sera... Am I going mad?_

He heard the Unseelie King say something in a low voice to his bloodthirsty advisor, and then there was the sound of shuffling feet over Rayce's laboured breathing. Creeping tendrils of magic enfolded Rayce and he gasped at the pressure on his wounds. He didn't have any fight left in him to even try to resist as his head lifted at the King's unspoken command.

"You will do your duty," the Faerie Lord said quietly, holding Rayce's eyes with his own stern gaze. "And you will bear these scars as a reminder of the respect that is due to a _true_ son of the Morning Star." His voice dropped to a whisper. "My name will not pass your lips again. You are not fit to speak it."

The King of the Unseelie Court left him there, bound and bleeding, as the twisted branches shivered and dipped down to allow the scarlet leaves to caress his back lovingly, soaking up the sacrifice. Rayce shuddered in horror at the dry, skittering touch as it brushed against him.

He lost track of time as he remained suspended almost insensate under the branch of the quickbeam to endure the sickening feeding, but it ended abruptly as a knife severed his bonds and he collapsed at the base of the tree.

When he woke, the cloak of the Hunt had been returned to his shoulders, and he lay shivering in its folds as he drifted in and out of consciousness.

He bitterly regretted the loss of his stele in the wilds of deep Faerie. Hunters healed faster than most, but it wouldn't be pretty. The image of his father's back flashed across his mind again and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hold on to himself.

 _I'm not like you._

 _**Author's note:_

 _ **SO**_ _sorry about the mix-up with posting PotC 11 instead of EotC 11! I even noticed the word count didn't match the one I had been working with in Wattpad, but I just derped right out! Thanks for messaging me to correct it!_


	12. Chapter 12

**12**

Sera wiggled her toes uncomfortably in Helen's old, cracked-leather boots, the brown hide faded and creased from where they had been flopped over in the cramped closet that she shared with Aline. She was pretty sure that her feet were a size bigger than Helen's, but she hadn't wanted to offend her hostess' kind offer to replace the shredded disaster of her own favourite boots. They had also managed to turn up a wrinkled, black Clave cloak that had belonged to Aline once Sera had asked for anything that might resemble the right shape. While the others had watched in confusion, Sera had unscrewed the handle from a broom and then nodded in satisfaction as she looped a cord around it.

Her Portal had opened just next to the graffitied concrete wall that marked the entrance to Otherios' home. Steadying herself against it, she shook her head. _Need to take it easy for a bit,_ she thought to herself, knowing even as she did that it might prove to be a tall order. She took a few deep breaths of the cool night air and waited for the dizziness to pass, taking stock of herself.

A few throwing knives remained strapped to her thigh above where she had tucked her ragged pant leg into the borrowed boot, and she still had her crossbow hanging down her back with two nearly-full tubes of bolts. The pilfered broomstick handle was slung over one shoulder on an improvised cord, and the cloak was bundled into the crook of her left arm. Blood had crusted in her tangle of gold and platinum waves, but she could care less what she looked like now. In fact, it might even be help her case with the fat little troll. What she didn't have right now was a fat sack of cash.

Her alarm rune flared to life under her hand, and then she leaned back to wait for him to emerge. Idly, she examined her nails, and was surprised to find that her hands were shaking. She clenched her hands into fists. _Keep it together._

A concrete slab grated across the gravel near the water and Otherios' trademark stink wafted up nauseatingly. The troll squirmed upward through the opening. For one terrifying second, his horribly unrecognizable towel caught on the edge and Sera was certain she was going to be sick if it fell away, but he heaved his gut over and hauled the dirtied cloth back into place.

The scowl on his heavy face slipped slightly when he saw her and his mouth sagged open, putting the ground-down stumps of his yellowing teeth on full display. Whatever grumpy greeting he had been cooking up for her died on his bloated lips. He stared.

Sera shifted under his silent gaze. "Otherios... I'm sorry for coming back so soon..." The troll remained silent, and Sera turned her eyes down to avoid what she saw in his face. "I need your help again."

Even though the troll barely stood higher than her waist, she felt small standing there. Asking for help had never been her thing. She had always been able to work or pay for everything she had, and her life had taught her to rely only on herself. But the walls that she had put up had started crumbling the moment she had decided to free Rayce at any cost. She wasn't used to being so vulnerable.

"Girl..." the troll started, still absorbing her battered appearance.

"I don't have any money this time," Sear warned, gold eyes raking him from under her eyelashes, and her hand hovered unconsciously over her remaining throwing knives.

Genuine hurt filled his eyes when he saw the motion, his usual disgruntled act discarded, and he shook his head sadly. His gravelly voice was uncharacteristically quiet when he asked, "What kind of help?"

Sera sighed with relief. "I need you to take me in. All the way." She expected a barrage of complaints from the little Faerie, protests about how it would be impossible to take a human into the Seelie Court, but again, he surprised her. His lumpy head nodded slowly and he hiked up his loincloth again.

"I'll still name a price, girl, whether you have cash or not," he said.

"Whatever you want," she answered tiredly.

"Honesty." Sera blinked. The troll lifted one too-long finger and poked it in her direction. "No snark, no sarcasm, no lies. You answer me truthfully." She dipped her head in assent, confused at where this was going.

He drew himself up and puffed out his chest, eyeing her carefully to watch for signs of deceit. "Whatever you're doing – is it worth it? Worth all of," he waved his hands at her, "this?"

She closed her eyes and felt a line of tears well up as her lips pressed together, but she willed herself not to cry. She reached up and rubbed the back of her hands across her eyes and looked back at the troll, who seemed surprised by her emotional reaction. "Have you ever been in love, Otherios?"

His clicked his mouth shut and blew a gob of snot out of one nostril in disgust. "Phaw. Never. Love costs too much." He lifted his brow at her knowingly. "Sometimes it costs you everything."

Sera shook her head. "Then even if I can find the words to explain how 'worth it' this is, you won't be able to understand. But the short answer is, 'yes'." She felt naked under his scrutiny as he stood there with his hands on his hips to take the measure of her answer.

Finally, he seemed satisfied. "You just keep track of what its costing you, girl, and make sure its not more than you're willing to pay."

He turned away from her and waded into the water, then motioned for her to follow him. Sera clutched the cloak tighter and then squashed the guilt that came with stepping into the cold water in Helen's boots.

When she drew alongside him, knee-deep in the current, he reached out and gently touched the brace of throwing knives. "And I would have done it because you're my friend, Sera." He was full of surprises tonight.

Otherios took her hand in his slimy, grey-green grasp and took one more step forward. Together, they vanished.

Sera gasped and opened her eyes in an earthy tunnel that smelled of loam and damp wood. Bright Faerie light glowed in a pair of woven sconces that appeared to be crafted out of delicate tree roots.

"This way," Otherios said in a hushed voice, leading her forward. The lights along the wall brightened and dimmed with their passing, and time seemed to stretch as they walked. They might have trekked on for minutes or hours; Sera couldn't tell. At one point, she felt a fierce pressure build in her temples, and she recognized it as the same feeling she had experienced with Rayce, when they had crossed what he had called a 'seam'. The tunnels remained deserted, and she was alone with Otherios and her headache.

The quality of the passage started to improve, and Otherios slowed cautiously. "Do you have a genius plan for getting a Shadowhunter past all the angry Faerie knights and into the Queen's apartments?"

"As a matter of fact," Sera answered with a cryptic grin. "I do."

"I sure hope so. You wouldn't believe what happened to the last guy who tried to get in unannounced." Otherios scratched under his paunch.

Endeavouring not to notice the hideous gesture, Sera shook out the Clave cloak and shrugged into it, pulling the dark folds around her comfortably. "Then it's a good thing I'm not a guy."

Otherios' eyes bulged in disbelief. "Is that a cloak of the _Conclave?_ "

She nodded once and worked on settling the makeshift loop created by the cord around the broomstick across her chest. The troll's mouth flapped open and closed as he sputtered, "That's a _terrible_ idea!"

Sera ignored her friend's protests and closed her eyes to concentrate. She reached down and pushed the cloak out of the way to close her left hand around the lower half of the broomstick. A moment later, a perfect copy of Rayce's staff shimmered over it as the glamour rippled outward from her rune. Then she laid her right hand over her heart and brought Rayce to life in her mind, feeling her pulse quicken as she did so. Strength poured into the _mendelin_ that bloomed, and with a sigh, she became her prince of the Courts.

Otherios gasped at the transformation, but Sera waved him off. The clock was ticking now, and she wasn't sure how much gas she had left in the tank if she needed to re-apply before reaching Arynessa. She now looked like an exact copy of Rayce as she had last seen him on Seraphine's balcony with Gwyn's mantle draped across his shoulders. Sera chivvied the troll in front of her so that his staring wouldn't wear away at the glamour.

With his dark cloak flaring out behind him, the Lord of the Hunt stalked confidently through the widening tunnels toward the private apartments of the Seelie Queen.

The Seelie Queen's amethyst eyes flashed in annoyance when she looked away from her lover to reach for an iced goblet of water touched with raspberry and mint that had been left on the side table. She lifted it to her lips to take a sip and then fixed a smile in place before turning back to Solarius, sliding closer to him on the couch they shared in what had formerly been her mother's apartments.

"I worry about acting too precipitously, my love," she said lightly, downplaying her irritation. She smoothed the soft white silk of her dress over her thigh as she crossed her long legs seductively. The Seelie crown shimmered atop her loose, lilac-hued tresses.

"Precipitously?" The Rift Lord's pale-blond eyebrow lifted delicately. "I worry about acting too slowly."

The Queen sighed. They had been arguing about this ever since a massive surge had rocked through the ley network around Alicante. Through her network of spies, she had been able to learn of the Unseelie King's betrayal of the Shadowhunters, but she doubted that he had fully grasped the far-reaching consequences of that bit of fun.

The Rift had been carved into a natural chasm of ley line power, and it relied on the earth's magic for its survival. It existed neither within the realm of Faerie nor in the Mortal world, and there was a delicate balance of power that kept it that way. With the sudden and severe depletion of ley energy, the Rift had been flickering alarmingly as it struggled to maintain its existence.

Solarius had come to the Queen following the first of the fluctuations, seeking an immediate evacuation of the Rift's inhabitants until the cause of the instability could be determined, but she had resisted. The Rift was the primary source of income for the Seelie Court, and she was mindful of the possible ramifications of crippling her economy so soon after taking the throne. She couldn't afford to show weakness while she worked to consolidate her power, and shutting down the Rift, even temporarily, would certainly be seen as such.

"We know the root cause of the problem now, Sol," she said soothingly. "The Eternal Forest was in shock, but it will only grow stronger with time, not weaker. The Rift will be well again soon."

The Rift Lord shook his head, his smile forced as he said apologetically, "I fear that I do not share your confidence, my Queen. I have not been able to detect any improvements, or any lessening of the frequency or intensity of the disturbances. It is as if the Forest starves."

The Queen sipped at her water again, thoughtful. Her brother wore the cloak now. Was it possible that he was not continuing Gwyn's duty to the Fey? _It's entirely possible_ , she mused, keenly aware of Rayce's stubborn streak.

What would happen to the Hunt if its leader didn't have a reason to preserve Unseelie interests? She shivered inwardly. Perhaps the Courts had taken Gwyn's faithful service for granted. The Fey had become deeply dependent on the earth's magic, particularly with the creation of the Rift. _If it were to dry up..._

She leaned in and gently pressed a kiss to the Rift Lord's lips before rising smoothly. "Perhaps I need to summon my brother and remind him that the cloak carries both power _and_ responsibility..." She took another sip from her goblet and looked down into the flavoured water, eyes veiled. "If he refuses to serve, then it may become necessary to explore options to... _relieve_ him of his command."

Solarius allowed a smile to play over his lips as he threaded his fingers through her locks lightly. "There are others who would gladly wear the cloak, my Beautiful One," he murmured.

The Queen felt a thrill of pleasure race down her neck as he traced up the side of her throat, but she pulled away, regaining control. She slipped across the sitting room to the door where two Faerie knights stood guard outside.

Cracking it open, she spoke quietly to the pair. "Send my brother in at once when he arrives." They clapped their fists over their hearts and bowed their heads to her, and then she closed the door once more. Summoning him would be easy later; he would be compelled to come.

Sol watched her curiously, unconcerned by her distraction. "You are summoning him now?" he asked.

The Seelie Queen set her drink down and sashayed back to her lover. A playful smile spread across her full mouth as she straddled the Rift Lord's hips and ran her hands up his chest and over his shoulders to draw him in for a deep kiss.

"After," she breathed.

Sera followed Otherios through the warren of deserted tunnels until she started recognizing a few landmarks from her last trip to the Seelie Court. Each one shot a qualm of guilt through her. Wearing Rayce's appearance felt like a betrayal, even if her intentions were good. She roughly shoved aside her remorse to make room for her bigger problem; what she was going to say to bluff past the guards outside the Queen's rooms. Otherios had warned her of them, and she had been working on her angle ever since.

 _I beg a word with my sister..._ Sera rolled her eyes. _I will_ never _call that woman my sister,_ she swore. Everything she tried sounded stiff or awkward. _I could just glower a bit. Loom a little._ Sera straightened up and took a deep breath, but she couldn't manage to duplicate the air he had taken on to get them through the checkpoint last time.

They only passed a handful of Faeries, but each one stopped to stare at the new Lord of the Hunt. Word had spread quickly through the Court after he had almost single-handedly cut a path to the throne for the new Queen, and many feared his return. Sera only feared for how much longer her glamour would last if these Fey kept rubber-necking.

Otherios stopped and peered around a corner, then looked up at Sera. "Two more turns. This is where I leave you," he whispered, head swivelling to search for watchful eyes. "Do you want me to try to find you when you get out?"

She shook her head. "Get back to your bridge safely, Otherios. I owe you big time for this. I get the feeling that if she doesn't agree to help me, I'm gonna need a lot more than a guide to get out of here."

"Don't owe me nothing," he said gruffly. "Just need to take better care of yourself. Can't be having you bloody and torn-up. You get through this in one piece, you hear me? Who else is going to lean on my doorbell every time they need a favour?"

A flush of warmth spread through Sera. "No one. I'll kick their ass. You're _my_ troll." If she could have, she might have hugged the small Faerie, but both their location and his stench prohibited it. Maybe later. Much... much later.

A satisfied grin crept over his face before he lifted his jaw and _harumphed_. "First left, second right," he instructed. "I'm out of here before the Queen decides to turn you into a hat rack or something."

Sera briefly contemplated life as a hat rack while she waited for him to vanish before following his directions. In the final hallway, two Faerie knights stood guard outside of an ornate wooden door that was beautifully carved. She couldn't spare a glance at the scenes that were adorned with precious gems and touches of silver and gold, her eyes focused on the two guards. _Raziel, help me_ ,she prayed silently.

The Faerie on the right reached back and pushed the door open for her without looking inside, and she was so shocked that she barely remembered to keep moving. _Um... thanks, Raziel?_

She bit back her thanks as the door swung closed silently behind her and she was treated to the sight of Arynessa's slim back, left bare by the cut of her dress, arching in toward a man she had pinned to the couch as she kissed him teasingly. This looked like a game that Sera did _not_ want to interrupt.

The Faerie lord caught sight of her standing cloaked in Rayce's image and his breath caught, alerting the Queen. Sera was unsurprised when she recognized the Rift Lord as he sat up. Arynessa's eyes were furious as she whipped her head around to confront the intruder. Anger quickly faded to confusion as she saw her brother.

"I didn't summon you yet," she snapped.

"I doubt that it's me you really wanted to see," Sera answered as she pressed her right hand over her heart and cancelled the glamour. The Clave cloak rippled and returned to its regular appearance, and she felt distinctly nonthreatening now that she was armed with little more than a broomstick handle.

Shock was stamped across Arynessa's face, but Solarius had covered his mouth with one hand to hide his amusement.

The Seelie Queen struggled to regain her composure as she rose from the divan. " _You,_ " she said accusingly.

"Me," Sera confirmed.

"You must be either very brave or very stupid to trespass here, little Shadowhunter."

Sera shrugged. "Neither. It's not my fault that your guards suck. And I'm taller than you, so watch who you're calling 'little'."

The Queen's mouth gaped open in disbelief and Sera felt the air in the room thicken as displeasure rolled off the other woman. She couldn't help it. Seeing Rayce's sister again had stirred up all the resentment from the vampire bar, and the hatred for the coolness she had shown in Sera's dream of the battle for the Seelie Court as she had dispatched not one, but two brothers into exile without hesitation.

"They will have little difficulty removing you – in pieces – if you don't explain yourself to my satisfaction," the Faerie Queen hissed through her teeth. Solarius was doing an excellent job of containing his laughter, which was wise in the present climate.

"I need a favour," Sera answered, cringing inwardly.

Arynessa looked at her incredulously. "The Queen of the Seelie Court does not hand out favours lightly, and rarely to those who offer open insults."

"Yeah, but you owe me one." _Wow,_ Sera thought to herself, _I'm amazing at this. I wonder if I'll literally go down in flames, or just figuratively._

The Queen narrowed her deep purple eyes at Sera defiantly. "I owe you nothing."

"If you want to call that crown on your head 'nothing', go ahead."

Solarius watched the exchange from the divan, safely out of Arynessa's line of sight, but not Sera's. His eyes sparkled as he listened to the two women.

"My brother placed the crown in my hands, not you," the Seelie Queen retorted.

"But I'm the one who saved him from Malchezed the first time, and then got him back here to steal it right out from under the Unseelie's nose. So, technically, you owe _me._ "

Arynessa sighed in annoyance. "You have a very twisted sense of debt and obligation."

"Oh, ho!" Sera laughed. _I'm going to die. She will literally kill me._ "Are you the pot or the kettle in that one? We're both black, either way." She waited to burst into flames. _Worth it. Can't stand her face._ When no retaliation came, Sera cut to the chase. "I just need to get into the Rift. That's all."

The Queen was mute, her emotions sealed away once more, and the quick rise and fall of her chest was the only indication that Sera had scored a point.

Interest lit up across the Rift Lord's face. "What business would a Shadowhunter have in my domain?"

"Answers." Sera took the easy excuse to look away from Arynessa. "I'm running out of places to look in the Mortal world. A friend suggested trying elsewhere, and I might know someone who can help me in the Rift."

"Cassius," the Faerie lord intuited easily. "But answers to what question?"

"I'm trying to free Rayce from the Hunt," Sera answered hesitantly, afraid of what Arynessa's reaction would be. Maybe getting rid of two brothers for the price of one had been her plan all along.

The Queen exchanged a long look with her lover, communicating volumes that Sera couldn't read, before turning her gaze back on the Shadowhunter. "Do you truly believe that you can reclaim him from the Hunt?"

In the back of her mind, Sera heard her friend's comforting words from that terrible night when she had awoken alone in the condo, _'_ _There's no magic in this world that cannot be undone, Sera.'_ She took a deep breath.

"I have to believe. Just get me into the Rift."

The Rift Lord's smile was generous as he stood and extended his hand to her. "I'll take you myself," he promised. Sera looked at him doubtfully, wondering just how far to trust him, before stepping forward to lay her hand in his. His nose crinkled delicately.

"But perhaps a bath could be arranged before you leave."

That was how Sera found herself immersed in the Queen's own bathtub, surrounded by a froth of bubbles, her tanned knees poking up out of the steaming water as Kaelie Whitewillow worked to gently wash the blood from the Shadowhunter's hair.

The handmaiden worked silently, their former alliance seemingly forgotten in the wake of all that had happened. Her days of running messages for Sera were clearly over.

Sera would have preferred to bathe alone, but Arynessa had insisted sweetly that the two should renew their acquaintance. The younger woman hadn't missed the implication behind the suggestion. Arynessa knew exactly how Sera's warning had made it to Zeke and then Rayce, which was not something he had shared when telling their tale in Solarius' home.

Uncomfortable in the quiet, and unable to make out the indistinct conversation taking place in the Queen's bedroom, Sera looked sideways at Kaelie and tilted her chin toward the door. "What do you think of Arynessa as Queen?"

Kaelie lowered her eyes and continued gently scrubbing through the wild tangle of platinum and gold. "She is an excellent Queen for our people," she murmured quietly.

"What does that mean?"

Kaelie looked at the door. "We need a strong Queen who will put the needs of her people ahead of all others during this difficult time."

Sera snorted. "Is that what you call it?"

The handmaiden shook her head. "Please, it is not for me to discuss. And you must not speak her name; it is not wise to show such disrespect."

Sera rolled her eyes. "What about Solarius? Is he a good guy? Bad guy? I can't get a read on him."

Kaelie tugged sharply on a particularly stubborn knot in Sera's hair and raised her eyes to the door again. "Lord Solarius is an excellent match for the Queen."

Wincing, Sera nodded faintly. _Okay, I get it. No talking._

"Then I hope they are very happy together."

Clad in a flowing white gown out of the Queen's closet and carefully cloaked against scrutiny, Sera survived an uneventful trip through the ley line network within the protection of the Rift Lord's arms. She still hadn't untangled Kaelie's ambiguous responses, but she knew enough to stay on her guard, at least. The Courts were a deadly game of chess and she was still trying to play checkers. Blindfolded.

Sera plucked at the shimmering material self-consciously. _For death and mourning, the colour's white._ She tried to push those morbid thoughts out of her mind. _Maybe she just really likes white. She probably never has to do laundry now._ It felt strange to be wearing a dress with her crossbow still hanging down her back under the cloak, but she had been unwilling to leave any of her weapons behind.

Solarius halted just outside of Cassius' bookshop and stepped off the street into the darkened doorway, pulling Sera in after him. He was uncomfortably close, and Sera swallowed nervously. The veiled amusement that so often creased his face had vanished, and had been replaced by harder lines that were drawn in the shadows of the alcove. He lifted a finger in warning to her.

"Whatever else you do while you are here, remember that you are still in _my_ city, Sera." His voice was low, and it sent a chill through her, reminding her just how mercurial the Fey could be. From charming suitor to iron ruler in a moment. He leaned in and she felt herself recoil slightly. "Be mindful of Rift law, Shadowhunter."

He touched the lock on the bookshop door gently and Sera heard its mechanism click as it released. His clear, green eyes flashed in the darkness as they lingered on her a moment longer, and then he was gone, his cloak whispering around the edge of the doorway.

Sera poked her head out. "Does that include breaking and entering?" she called after him. Quiet, dark laughter floated back across the widening distance between them. _Guess not._ The Rift Lord's silhouette melted into the shadows, leaving her alone.

Wary of being found by some of the more unsavoury characters in the Rift, Sera sighed and slipped into the shop, locking the door behind her. _If that even does any good around here._

Sera felt her way forward, wishing belatedly for a witchlight or a flashlight, or an anything-light. She had only been in the bookstore briefly last time, but it was enough to remember that there were stacks of volumes everywhere, and a staircase at the back. Very faint, soft golden light was visible around the bend of the stairs from above.

As she edged past a table that was covered in tomes, her elbow clipped one heap and sent a pair of books thudding to the floor to join others that were splayed open there. She swore softly under her breath and stooped to pick them up, setting them back randomly. _Cassius didn't seem like the kind of guy to leave books carelessly strewn across the floor,_ Sera wondered silently.

The stillness of the closed shop was eerie. When she had dreamed of Zeke and Cassius here, they had been frantic, banging on the glass in the front window desperately. She didn't understand why that would be true when everything seemed so calm.

She reached the stairs without further incident and started climbing, wincing as one or two of the steps creaked gently. The soft light glowed from a single Faerie lamp as she turned the corner and found a cozy loft sprawled out around her.

The room was dominated by a wide bed with silky-looking dark sheets, and Cassius was stretched out on his stomach, his single wing trailing off the left side of the bed as he slept peacefully. Seeing it sent a flash of recognition through her, and she felt a sadness for the strange Faerie. Only the barest shred of sheet preserved his modesty, and Sera sheepishly tried to find somewhere else to look. The pillows were tossed haphazardly around the sun-darkened Faerie, and his right arm was thrown out to the opposite side of the bed.

Cool steel kissed Sera's throat and she froze as her eyes flicked down to see a hard arm corded with muscle.

"Nice and easy now," a voice whispered in her ear. Sera's heart pounded in her chest as she slowly raised her hands.

Cassius' eyes blinked open to the strange scene, but he smiled lazily when he recognized Sera in the circle of Zeke's arms, and he closed his eyes again like a cat settling back into a nap. "Hello, beautiful Sera," he said dreamily, seemingly unsurprised by his late-night visitor.

The knife vanished and Zeke slipped around her right side to get a better look at her in her borrowed Faerie clothes. He crossed his arms across his bare chest appreciatively, completely unconcerned that he was only wearing dark boxer-briefs. He let out a low whistle.

" _You're_ Sera?" he exclaimed, eyebrows raised in disbelief.

She nodded once, unable to stop herself from connecting the mussed bed with the two men.

Zeke shook his head wonderingly. "That boy didn't cry _nearly_ hard enough if you're what he was losing to that goddamn cloak. And that dress looks _much_ better on you that it did on Arynessa."

Sera flushed and looked down. "Um... I can... uh... wait downstairs while you guys... um... yeah."

Embarrassment flashed across Zeke's face and he turned away to find a robe while Sera backed down the stairs, her face burning. _I wonder if I can walk in on anyone else in the bedroom tonight. Why the hell does everyone else get to canoodle except me?_

When everyone was properly clothed again and tea had been brewed, Cassius brought the lamps to life downstairs and drew heavy green curtains across the front window of the shop, inviting them to gather around the table Sera had slipped past earlier. She caught a glimpse of Zeke pouring a splash of what smelled suspiciously like brandy into his tea, and he caught her looking. He raised a finger to his lips conspiratorially and winked as the flask vanished back into the pocket of his robe.

The Faerie gently pushed a few books toward the centre of the table and perched on the edge lightly, graceful hands wrapped around his mug as he looked at her over the rim with mischievous curiosity in his eyes.

"What brings you back to the Rift, lovely Sera?" His voice said he already knew the answer, but still wanted to play.

It was disconcerting to be complimented so easily by a near-stranger, and Sera shifted uncomfortably, turning her mug in her hands. "Just Sera, please."

Cassius tilted his head. "You should not be ashamed of your beauty, but as you wish." He nodded in assent before repeating, "What brings you back -"

The entire building shook violently, cutting him off. Sera's eyes widened in fear as the china teapot rattled threateningly in the clamour. The roaring rumble that ripped through the room was ten times worse than standing in a subway tunnel with the commuter express barrelling through, and it sent scores of books chattering forward on their shelves to tumble down while others fell from the heaped stacks around them.

Sera clenched her teeth and gripped her mug in fear as the very air of the cavern outside seemed to groan and stretch, moaning mournfully as the light around the edge of the heavy curtain flickered in unison with the Faerie lamps inside, plunging the room into darkness when they sputtered out.

It ended as suddenly as it had begun, and the lights abruptly returned to their previous brightness. Sera's hands were white, and ripples shook through her tea, so she decided to set it down before she dropped it.

"What the hell was that?"

"The shuddering breath of the earth," Cassius answered sadly, bending over to pick up some of the volumes that had hit the floor. One had lost its front cover, and he stroked its spine gently as he carried it to the back of the shop like a bird with a broken wing.

Sera's mouth gaped open as she looked to Zeke for a better answer. His grey eyes were serious now, and worried.

"The Fey gentry are trying to keep it quiet, but the Rift has been struggling to survive ever since the night the system blew." He waved his hand vaguely at the window behind the curtain. "The warlocks out there were gone like a shot after the first quake. They know something's up, and the magic isn't working like it used to."

"Then why the hell are you still here?" Now her dream made sense. Terrifying, horrible sense. But sense.

"The same reason you are, girl. Been lookin' through all this crap for answers since Rayce told me what happened. I don't like it any better than -" Sera threw her arms around him fiercely, heedless of the brandy-infused tea that slopped over the rim of his mug as he made a _tcha_ noise under his breath.

She squeezed her eyes shut when she felt the warmth of his body. Here, finally, was someone else who loved Rayce and was trying to help him. Relief washed through her, and she sank against Zeke gratefully.

After a minute, Sera pulled back and looked up at Zeke with fresh hope burning in her golden eyes. Cassius had disappeared behind the counter at the back of the room, and was out of sight for the moment, but Sera dropped her voice anyway.

"I'm sorry about barging in on you earlier," she offered apologetically.

Zeke shrugged and scrubbed his right hand back through his black hair bashfully, the shattered Voyance ruin dark against his skin. He looked over his shoulder for Cassius, but they could only hear the other man rummaging through drawers in the back room, presumably to repair the damaged book or to give them a modicum of privacy. "Guess there isn't much point in trying to keep it a secret now," he admitted.

"Rayce doesn't know?"

"Didn't want him to," Zeke answered ruefully.

Sera frowned. "You didn't want him to know that you were happy?"

His steely eyes softened. "That's what you see?"

"That's what it is," Sera said firmly, certainty spreading through her.

The older Shadowhunter gave her the ghost of a smile. "When I first came to the Courts... Cassius saved me. From the Clave, from the Fey, and most importantly from myself." He snorted. "I was an idiot. Wanted to go back to Alicante, weapons shining, carve a goddamn path right to Imogen Herondale's doorstep so I could cut her throat for what she did to me." He touched the Stripped Marks on his hand and one on his chest just inside the open front of his robe so that Sera would understand.

"Cassius took me in, kept me alive, kept me from going on a suicide mission for misguided revenge, and he never asked for anything in return. When I had my head on straight again, I let him bind us together so that I _couldn't_ run off and do something stupid." Zeke shook his head from where he was lost inside memories that were decades old. "Even then, I thought I could use him. He's a hell of a lot more dangerous than he looks." A smile tinged with pride crept across Zeke's list.

Sera was spellbound by the softness of his voice, by the raw vulnerability shared in return for her own breakdown. They were united by more than their love for Rayce, now.

"I was convinced that I could force him to come back to Idris with me, or maybe just the Silent City to get that bastard, Antioch." His eyes narrowed for a moment before he smiled again. "But you know what? Something changed between us, and I never even saw it happening."

He cast another glance at the back of the store. "I needed him, Sera. And I think he needed me, too. It was hard to find time while I was training Rayce, but it got easier to sneak away, especially once the boy started fighting those Faerie idiots for his mother. I should have put a stop to it, but I couldn't. Not when it gave me hours of stolen time."

Sera's heart ached. She understood why Zeke was opening up to her.

"Now Rayce needs you," he said seriously. "And I think you need him, too, even if you don't understand why yet. There's a reason you found him, Sera, and I don't think it was just so that you could lose him."

A tear slipped down her cheek, and Zeke brushed it away gently. "No tears, girl. You're going to need your game face."

Sera sniffed. "Game face? Why?"

He threw back his head and laughed, shattering the quiet moment they were having.

"Wait until you hear Cassius' plan."


	13. Chapter 13

**13**

Alec looked up in fascination at the giant, crossed blades that arched over his head and plunged into the black rock on either side of him amidst patches of jewel-green moss. The gate was truly a marvel that couldn't be properly appreciated through pictures in textbooks.

Warily, he glanced down over the lip of the rocky outcropping that ended abruptly in front of him. A sluggish river of lava and slag churned along the bottom of the chasm, and he sucked in a breath before edging backwards a bit. Across the gorge, a drawbridge still stood firmly closed in the carved _adamas_ walls.

The former Consul sighed almost inaudibly, but after twenty-five years together, Magnus didn't miss a beat.

"They're not going to talk to you," he said flatly, arms folded over a red velvet smoking jacket with black lapels. White lace dripped from his cuffs, and the buttons of his pristine dress shirt were undone half-way, so that he looked like a cross between a pirate and a 70s pimp. His hair was carefully styled into a messy, wind-blown look for the occasion. Only Magnus could find the time for exotic fashion while living on the run. In sharp contrast, Alec was wearing a set of borrowed gear from Bueno Aires. The fit was a bit tight on his tall frame, but Magnus had looked on approvingly.

Alec kept his eyes fixed on the drawbridge. "They'll talk to me."

Aline's message had sparked a heated debate between him and Jace that morning, with Alec pressing to enlist the aid of the Iron Sisters while his parabatai insisted that the legendary women would a.) never go against the Clave, and b.) never agree to speak to anyone lacking a second X chromosome.

As a compromise, Alec had sent his brother ahead to California to do some reconnaissance and try to get a lock on where or what the source of the _'kiss-your-asses-goodbye'_ breach was. Aline had a wonderful way with words when she was agitated. He briefly speculated if she had used a more, or less, colourful description in her message to Alicante.

After Buenos Aires, Jace had been obsessed with growing their tiny rebel force, and over half of the Argentines had asked to stay on with them. When news of the demon cross-over had come and maps had shown that it was far from any major cities, Alec had fretted about their weapon situation. It was dangerous to involve the closest Institutes, particularly Los Angeles; the last thing the Blackthorns needed was any more reason for the Clave to discipline them again. Raiding churches, temples, and synagogues along the coast was pure insanity, even with Jace's solemn vow to cease his unintentional advances on any hapless acolytes.

What they needed, Alec had insisted, was the resources of the Adamant Citadel. He was taking Aline's warning very seriously. A couple of seraph blades, a few vials of holy water, and an assortment of blessed swords and arrows weren't going to go far. And there was no telling how many more encounters they might need to fight. They needed a long-term solution. Simon and Izzy had sent a handful of updates from abroad that had included mentioning Centurions being dispatched to chase after the multitude of demon attacks that had peppered the globe. Alec had shook his head in disgust when he had seen that. _What an inefficient use of resources._ Everett was stalling, trying to look like he was doing something without having to properly take responsibility for coordinating the world's Institutes.

Jace had focused on the dispersion of the demons; he had analyzed the locations and relative strength of the disturbances endlessly, stubbornly trying to divine the nature of the mind that he was certain was directing the assaults. But Alec knew all to well the mind that was controlling their side of the equation, and he was filled with the feeling of helplessness as he watched the Clave fail to act under Everett's administration.

Magnus idly tapped one of the great blades of the arch with an immaculate nail as he regarded his husband critically. "Darling, there are both fundamental and physiological differences between men and women. You're a _particularly_ fine example of a man, not that I'm complaining, but-" the warlock peered across the chasm at the fortress that had shown no signs of life since they had arrived nearly an hour earlier. "they're not going to talk to you," he repeated.

Alec's eyes were steady as he watched the Citadel patiently. "They'll talk to me."

Soon, Jace would be putting in the call to Isabelle to get herself, Simon, and the boys to California once he had tracked down the demons. Part of Alec wanted to be astonished at how much ground the foursome had covered, but the other part of him wouldn't have expected any less from his sister. _Or,_ he admitted grudgingly _, from Simon._ His brother-in-law's contacts through the Recruiter network had opened a lot of doors that would have been closed to almost any other Shadowhunter, and it had expedited their diplomatic mission exponentially.

Pride flooded through him for his sons. Being stuck behind the Consul's desk for a decade had kept him from really seeing Rafe in action, or watching Max's confidence with his magic grow under first Magnus' tutelage, and then other warlocks across the globe as he had travelled and studied. Once he had turned eighteen, Rafael had demanded to be allowed to remain with his brother, and no one had found a good reason to deny the request. The pair had been inseparable ever since. Alec sincerely doubted that even Jace had penetrated farther into Downworld than Rafe had at Max's side. Rafe's birthday gifts to Jace were almost always tantalizing pieces of Downworld, just to torture his uncle with how much he was missing.

The Consul's sons were a curiosity to most of the Shadow World; a Shadowhunter raised alongside a Downworlder by parents from both worlds. Each brother had outstanding relationships on either side of the invisible lines that had been drawn in the sand centuries ago, and Alec had prayed to Raziel as they had grown that they would one day be a turning point to help blur and finally obliterate those lines once and for all. The heart that beat in his husband's chest was no different from his own, and he burned with a fierce need to help Shadowhunters and Downworlders alike realize that it really could be that simple. _Even if those hearts_ aren't _beating_ , he amended, thinking about the vampires.

Magnus cleared his throat. "Can you see how much not-talking is happening right now?"

Alec sighed and allowed a half-smile to creep up one side of his face as he continued his vigil. "I'd be okay with a little more not-talking while we wait for the talking part," he said under his breath.

"I heard that," Magnus huffed.

"You were meant to."

Worries about what might happen if his ragtag band of rebels encountered any loyalists in California plagued Alec. He didn't much care what happened to himself, but recalling his family meant that he had just put four more people in the Clave's cross-hairs if they were caught. He and Jace would be remanded into custody once more, and the others would likely be arrested for aiding and abetting fugitives from the law. _Sed lex dura lex._

Whatever the consequences, he would do whatever he could for as long as he could until it ended one way or another. He had known since he was a teenager that he was going to dedicate his life to service for the Clave, and nothing had happened to change his mind.

"You know, I could just," Magnus wiggled his fingers suggestively, "zip us across."

"That's not the point. Haven't you ever heard that patience is a virtue?" He turned around and gently patted his husband's cheek. "Be virtuous."

A grin broke across Magnus' face, lighting up his cat eyes. "Virtuous?" He paused, and then a dreamy look crossed his features. "I haven't been virtuous since the summer of 1587... and what a _magical_ summer it was..." he was cut off by the clanking of chains and the creaking of the drawbridge as it lowered across the gap. His mouth fell open in a surprised 'O'.

Alec drew his stele from inside the jacket of his gear and scrawled a quick _dexteritas_ rune on the inside of his wrist to help him begin navigating the path of knives across the bridge. He was given the distinct impression that the confusing maze of wickedly-sharp upturned blades had not been designed with a man's size 13 foot in mind, which forced him into an ungainly, twisting two-step that left Magnus doubled-over with laughter.

On the far side, Alec straightened his jacket haughtily and blew a stray lock of hair out of his eyes. _I must not have drawn the rune properly._ He turned to watch his husband's attempt, and felt his jaw drop open as the warlock sashayed easily through the deadly obstacle.

It was Magnus' turn to give Alec's cheek an affectionate pat. "Salsa lessons, darling. I _told_ you to come."

Alec burst out laughing, not even trying to hold it in, and his wide, genuine smile made Magnus' heart ache. _Oh, Alec, how I've missed your laughter._

When he had caught his breath, the Shadowhunter's eyes twinkled with excitement. "When we get through this, I absolutely _swear_ I will salsa with you."

Magnus lifted his finger, but Alec cut him off before he could say anything. "I swear by the _Angel._ "

Grinning smugly, the warlock snapped his fingers and a flare of blue light blossomed over his hand to illuminate where they were standing.

Silver-white walls carved from _adamas_ gleamed with an inner light, and they could see a shadow within becoming more and more distinct as it approached form the opposite side. At their feet, a black circle enclosed the sigil of the Iron sisters – a heart pierced by a blade.

When the shadow had become crisp and clear on the wall, a section of the _adamas_ slid away to reveal a tall, imperious woman gowned in the long, loose white dress favoured by the Iron Sisters over the centuries. Demon-wire bound the wrists of her full sleeves and encircled a high, empire waistline in their fashion.

The Sister's face seemed nearly ageless; impossibly young, but with ancient wisdom shadowing her features. A long, dark braid swung down below her waist, also bound with twists of electrum. Her most stunning feature, though, was the swirling, complex tattooed mask that curled sinuously around her orange-hued eyes. It lent her angular visage an even more exotic cast, and Alec couldn't look away as she fixed her strange eyes on him piercingly and waited for him to speak.

Gathering his thoughts and carefully separating his inner salsa-ing Shadowhunter from his outer negotiating Consul, he dipped his head to the Sister in respect.

"I'm honoured by your presence, Sister. I assure you that I would not have disturbed your order if it was not of utmost importance. Thank you for coming," he said humbly.

She considered him carefully with calculating eyes. "A great number of my sisters argued against my decision; many have not spoken to a man in decades."

Magnus snorted irreverently. "Please, Sister Cleophas. If they were worried about being ravished, you can cheerfully inform them that they are _not_ his type."

Cleophas fixed him with a hard, no-nonsense stare, and even the former High Warlock of Brooklyn wilted slightly under her fiery look of disapproval. "My sisters' concern did not lie with the Consul's intentions, but with yours, _Magnus Bane._ " The warlock's eyes widened innocently as she continued, "Your name is not unknown within our walls."

He brightened with curiosity. "Really? Who-"

Alec raised his hand to cut off what would no doubt have been the start of another fascinating story featuring one of Magnus' previous romances. He was still trying to stamp out the images conjured by the mention of the 'magical' summer of 1587. "Sister Cleophas, I feel honour-bound to tell you that I was removed from office."

She lifted a dark eyebrow defiantly at his words. "The Adamant Citadel knows of what has befallen Alicante, Consul."

Surprise flashed through him as he caught her subtle vote of support, and it gave him the confidence to press his luck just a bit further. "And still you came?"

The woman raised two elongated fingers to her mouth and kissed them before pressing them gently to his lips solemnly. "For the courtesy you did us in revealing Sister Philomena's fate and giving us closure after two decades of mourning for her loss. Now her memory may at last be laid to rest. Rarely do the Sisters of the Adamant Citadel receive the kindness of strangers, and it was a welcome gesture for myself and a few of the others who are not so close-minded about outsiders."

Inwardly, Alec shook his head in amazement and silently thanked Sera's journal for uncovering the secret of the murders her mother had committed twenty years ago.

"You are a strange Shadowhunter, Consul," she said slowly. "You married a warlock against the accepted gender and race expectations of your people. You raised a Downworlder child as your own. You extended the hand of friendship to the traditionally solitary Iron Sisters. And you are spending what could be your last days of freedom in this life fighting back against demons that threaten us all." Her features blazed with intensity. "So you see, Consul, I worried not about the implications of coming to hear you out, but about the consequences of refusing to listen. What need have you of the Adamant Citadel?"

Alec exhaled a breath he didn't even realize he had been holding. "My family and I are living in exile of the Clave, but we refuse to stop fighting Heaven's battle because of human politics. We go to fight an unknown threat that may be more dangerous than anything this world has seen since the Mortal War, and we are woefully unequipped to do so." He hesitated. "We need access to the armouries of the Adamant Citadel."

Sister Cleophas remained silent, studying him quietly as she considered his request. Even Magnus restrained himself, sensing how important it was not to attempt to influence her decision. A gentle breeze ruffled the folds of her long dress as she pondered wordlessly, a fitting image of a Greek oracle brought to life centuries after their kind had vanished from the world.

After long minutes of waiting, her mouth curved up into a faint smile on one side. "If the Iron Sisters were to throw their support behind you, it could be viewed as an act of open rebellion, Consul."

Alec's face fell as his hopes were shattered. He had been so _certain_ they would understand his need, that they would see that it was the right thing to do. He folded his hands together and bowed his head to her once more in farewell.

"I understand completely, Sister. Thank you for taking the time to see-"

"Do you know the Iron Sisters' words?" She moved closer to him, watching for his response. The soft glow of the _adamas_ wall behind her gave her an otherworldly cast, exaggerating her slightly alien appearance.

" _Ignis aurum probat,_ " he answered automatically, thrown by the sudden change.

"Yes. 'Fire tests gold'," she said softly. "What happened to Alicante was a tragedy on a horrific scale, Consul, but I think you were tested in those fires. Yours is a heart of gold, Alexander Lightwood, and I think the Clave will soon see that you are not a man who can be broken."

Cleophas reached out and tapped a too-long finger against his chest threateningly. "It will only be a rebellion if we are on the losing side, Consul." Her fierce eyes burned into his own. "See to it that you win."

Less than an hour later, dozens of crates of weapons had been carted out to the edge of the Adamant Citadel's walls where Alec and Magnus had been asked to wait. No amount of respect for the Consul would permit Sister Cleophas to allow him within their fortress, but she had been able to galvanize a handful of her sisters to aid her in gathering a substantial cache for Magnus to transport to Jace's staging area in California.

When the boxes had vanished, she motioned for the other Sisters to go on without her, and then she approached Alec one last time. She produced a slim, black case about the size of a backgammon set and presented it to Alec carefully, beckoning him to take it.

"Use it wisely," she whispered before turning away and vanishing back through a gap in the wall that sealed itself behind her as if it had never opened.

Curious, he flicked open the latches and peeked inside. His breath caught in chest and he had to struggle to control it as he exhaled slowly to calm his suddenly racing pulse. He carefully refastened the locks and pulled out his cell.

By some miracle or exceptional cellphone network service, Alec was able to get a call through to Jace, and he fought to keep his voice steady.

"What did you find?" Alec asked, trying to contain the sense of buoyancy that had filled him with new hope after securing the help of the Sisters.

Jace's voice crackled with static on the other end of the line; wherever he was, there were either fewer miracles or cellphone towers available. "You are going to be so pissed when I tell you, buddy" he said. There was a dangerous tone of excitement in his voice that Alec immediately associated with shining golden eyes and a guaranteed death wish.

Alec sighed into the phone. "Dare I ask?"

"Let me put it this way, Alec – they aren't even extinct enough for _me_ this time."

A blood-red sun was setting over the ruins of Alicante, shimmering across the tall crystalline spires of the demon towers as it sunk lower toward the horizon. Hollowed-out shells of buildings that had been devastated by ley magic blasts pocked the face of the city, scarring its face irrevocably. The streets were deserted, and the canals were still choked with floating debris that had been blown out of homes on the last night of peace for the city of glass.

Jon Cartwright flicked open his lighter and cupped his left hand around the flame as he tilted his head down to light the cigarette in his mouth. Snapping the silver lid shut with a sharp _snick_ , he exhaled a cloud of smoke, leaned on the stone railing of one of the canal bridges near the Gard and flicked a few cigarette ashes over the edge. _Shouldn't be long now,_ he thought to himself.

He'd had a sick feeling in his gut ever since he had brought the news of the twin disasters in Cairo and Buenos Aires to interim-Consul Everett Whitlock. He'd seen the look in the man's eyes. They'd widened, but not in surprise. In recognition. He had known something was gunning for those cities, and he'd done fuck all to prevent it.

Now Whitelock had been closeted away with those weird warlock twins working on a secret project in the lowest levels of the Gard. He had vanished with no official itinerary to Las Vegas, and now he had left for the Silent City without a word to anyone, except maybe that idiot meat-head Ravenkey. The city was going to hell and the Consul wasn't even here.

Reports from confused Centurions had been piling up on the Consul's desk asking for more information about their assignments; there weren't any demons at their dispatch locations. Jon had leafed through the pile unchallenged. The Gard was nearly empty. No one knew what to do, and there wasn't anyone giving orders. In the absence of specific duties, most of the Shadowhunters had slipped away to be with their families and salvage what they could before getting out of Idris.

Cinder Whitescar appeared at his side silently, and he jumped, almost losing his cigarette. "Jesus, Michael, and Raziel," he swore. "Goddamn Centurions."

"I don't actually think any of them were Centurions," Cinder deadpanned. Her dark hair was tied back in her signature braid, and she wore her tough leather gear easily, the set broken in from years of hard service. Dark aviator sunglasses hid her eyes as she leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest casually.

"Yeah, well..." Jon looked flustered by her sudden appearance, and decided to change the subject. "Did you find anything?"

Cinder grinned, stretching the three white scars across her face, and reached into her jacket. She held up a handful of rumpled slips of paper. "What do you think?"

Jon whooped and reached for them, but she held them back over the canal, out of his reach, and pressed her left hand against his chest. "Let's get something straight, Cartwright. I don't want to see another sideshow circus. That's not why I dug through four dumpsters for these."

He lowered his hand and took a deep drag on his cigarette. "Have you talked to her yet?"

Cinder set her jaw, her heart clenching in her chest as she thought about Ria. "No."

Jon scratched at the back of his neck uncomfortably. Strife between parabatai was uncommon, but it _did_ happen. And no one ever wanted to talk about it. He steered the conversation out of awkward waters tactfully.

"How much pull do you have at the Scholomance?"

Cinder looked confused. "I don't know. Some? Like, are you asking if I can get a pair of Jace Herondale's boxers? Because literally _anyone_ can do that."

Jon blew smoke through his nostrils in disgust. "I will never understand people's obsession with that guy. And no, I'm not looking for underwear. Is there any way you can get some sort of override message to your fellow Centurions? Or send out a distress signal to get them moving?"

"Override message..." Cinder said doubtfully. "You mean like, countermanding direct orders?"

"I couldn't have said it better than myself." His thumb twitched nervously at the butt of his cigarette.

"Jon, that's pretty damn serious."

"Well, so am I," he answered simply. "What happened to Lightwood... it doesn't sit right with me, you know? Everett stacked the Council Hall with his buddies to get the Consul out, and now where are they, huh?" He threw his arms out to indicate the empty city. "Rats on a sinking ship, Cinder. And the biggest rat of all is... up to something."

Cinder's fingers tightened on the notes for which she had gone hip-deep into trash to find. "So you want another circus? Somehow fill the galleries with pro-Lightwood supporters and drag in Everett wrapped in chains this time?" She shook her head. "I won't be part of a lynch-mob, Jon."

He held up his hands defensively. "I'm not asking you to. I just have to know that when the time comes, we're gonna have what we need to make things right again."

Cinder sighed and brought her arm back over the railing. "Justice, Jon. Not vengeance."

"Not vengeance," he agreed.

She handed over the crumpled lump, and Jon held her eyes with his own for a moment in silent thanks before unfolding the first one to start reading. By the time he had finished, his cigarette was dangling from his lower lip, and he looked up at her for confirmation of what he was seeing. She nodded once.

"Christ, Cinder. Does California know yet?"

The Centurion shrugged noncommittally. "I don't know, but I haven't had any new orders yet."

Jon dropped his cigarette butt and used the heel of his boot to grind it out on the cobblestones of the bridge. This had gotten way more out of hand than he had expected. He tucked the evidence into the inside pocket of his jacket and zipped it back up.

"We need to work fast."

Simon tucked one last pair of socks into his carry-on bag and zipped it closed before looking over at the clothes explosion on the bed he shared with his wife. Spending most of his adult life travelling the world had made him a pretty efficient packer, but he doubted that even Raziel himself could make Izzy anything less than a human clothes-tornado. He tried not to think of what his mother would say if she could see this.

Rafe and Max had made it back twenty minutes earlier and were ready to go, but she had gone down to settle their hotel bill half an hour ago and still hadn't returned. _Classic Venetians._

Simon could just barely hear the television in the next room where the boys were killing time and trying not to look too nervous or excited. They knew it was time to join their fathers and Jace, but they were still waiting to hear the exact location so that Max could open a Portal.

"Hey, Uncle Si," Max called out. "You gotta come see this!"

Simon dropped a lacy red bra and mentally bookmarked it for later now that he knew it was somewhere in his wife's luggage. When he crossed into the front room, he found Rafe leaning forward in an armchair, a hunting knife forgotten in his right hand as he stared with rapt attention at the broadcast. Max was rummaging around in the couch cushions for the remote. "Where did you say Uncle Jace wants us to go?"

"Northern California-" The older Shadowhunter came around in front of the television and saw that it was tuned to an American news station that was providing aerial coverage of a huge forest fire. Billowing clouds in every shade of grey were rising from the fiery canopy as it was consumed by the fire. The late-afternoon sky was obscured by smoke and ash as a helicopter panned past the fire line and revealed the charred husks of once-beautiful trees now standing blackened and barren.

Max found the remote and jabbed at the volume button.

" _...fire marshals were baffled by the speed with which the fires began spreading through northern California last night after calls started streaming in. Over 80,000 homes in the Santa Barbara area have been evacuated as a precaution while local fire fighters work to employ various methods of wildfire suppression._

" _Over three dozen crews from neighbouring towns and cities have volunteered to help combat the blaze that started somewhere in the Los Padres National Forest, and officials are asking tourists and locals to avoid travel in the area and to cooperate with detour coordinators as firebreaks are created to contain the devastation."_

Simon gaped at the screen. "Maybe it's a different part of California," he said faintly.

He heard a key card slide into the lock on the hotel room door and Izzy stormed in with her cellphone in hand just as Rafe swore quietly under his breath in Spanish and asked, "What could do something like this?"

She reached down and violently wrenched off the cream-coloured pumps she was wearing, bending elegantly in a navy A-line skirt and jacket to inelegantly hurl her shoes into the bedroom. Simon winced as he tried to tally what the extra charges to the room would be for stiletto dents in the plaster.

"Everything okay...?" he ventured.

Izzy tossed back her long dark hair, eyes flashing. "Do you know what he's doing right now?" she asked, shaking her cellphone at Simon. He shook his head mutely.

"He's _laughing_ ," she hissed. " _Laughing."_

"Who is?" Max piped up.

"Your uncle," she spat as she stalked into the bedroom to begin cramming her clothes into suitcases before correcting herself, "Your _other_ uncle. Your soon-to-be _ex_ -uncle. Your imminently _deceased_ uncle."

Simon moved to stand in the doorway and fidgeted with the hem of his shirt nervously as she started stripping out of her clothes hurriedly and started reaching for her gear, as-yet unused during their travels. "Should I be asking what Jace is laughing about, or should I just shut up?"

His wife poured herself into the tough, black pants and Simon felt his mouth go dry as she yanked the zipper up on the jacket. She turned her eyes up at him. "Oh, _please_ ask me."

 _Wife trap? Or does she genuinely want me to ask?_ He fretted quietly and risked a glance backwards at the boys for guidance. Rafe shook his head furiously while Max nodded earnestly. Simon sighed. _So helpful, guys. Oh, well. Carpe diem. Seize the carp._

"What's so funny?"

She twisted her hair up and stabbed a pair of chopsticks through to hold it back, somehow managing super-model hair in less than seven seconds. Maybe she was born with it. "He gave me their exact location, and then asked you to bring a handful of D20s."

 _What?_ "What?"

Izzy sighed. "He even jokingly offered to let you lead the defense this time, citing your extensive campaign experience." She coiled her signature electrum whip around her wrist and waited for it to sink in.

Seeing his blank look, she rubbed her temples tiredly.

"Dragons, Simon. He found dragons."

** _Author's note: I'm going to make every effort to get Chapter 14 up by Wednesday. Pray to Raziel for me. Or Lilith. Or both. Let's cover all our bases, shall we?_

 _1\. I've been looking forward to writing this part for WEEKS. It's been ripping me up to keep it inside._

 _2\. Today was the first day in my quest to survive 12 shifts in 8 days, so I will be notably short on writing time after Wednesday until next week =/ Decisions were made. Regrets were had._


	14. Chapter 14

**14**

The darkness of the tunnels outside the Unseelie Court was broken by only a single, faint lamp of flickering blue light, like a gas flame turned down low. Rayce lay in a heap underneath its glow, still unconscious from the discipline he had taken under Iarlath's whip. He had been dumped there unceremoniously at the King's order, and Caelus found him soon after receiving a message to fetch back the Lord of the Hunt from his master's doorstep.

The Faerie crouched down and reached out to gently touch Rayce's shoulder. There was no response, so he squeezed lightly.

Rayce hissed with pain and vanished, reappearing behind Caelus and driving him down hard into the stone of the tunnel floor with one knee in the small of the Hunter's back. The stripes across his back burned like fire, and several must have broken open their scabs because he felt fresh heat stain the cloak that lay across his wounds. The blood of the Hunt allowed him to heal faster than others, but not that fast.

"My Lord!" Caelus croaked in fear. Rayce recovered immediately and felt a flash of guilt for his reaction as he released his hold on the other man.

The Hunter pushed himself up, seemingly unfazed by his treatment. He cleared his throat. "My Lord, the Hunt has grown restless in your absence. Many have slipped away."

Rayce closed his eyes, weary. _It never ends._ "Take me back to them," he said quietly.

Caelus nodded and rose, offering a hand to help Rayce up, but the Shadowhunter ignored it and stood slowly as more scabs let go. He grimaced at the crackling sensation down his back and sucked in a breath through his teeth.

"I'm sorry I cannot ease your pain, my Lord. My gift does not run toward healing," the Faerie apologized.

Rayce briefly lingered on what he knew of Caelus' gift from Gwyn's memories. The Unseelie King had sired many talented sons, it would seem; some, perhaps, too talented. However, if his gift could run toward herding stray Hunters back into the fold, that would be wonderfully useful at the present. Rayce had often heard Zeke use the expression 'about as easy as herding cats' before, but he was tempted to amend that to 'Hunters' instead. They seemed to constantly push their boundaries with him.

Inside his cloak, he could feel the outline of Gwyn's horn resting against his side. It didn't matter how far they went; he would be able to bring them back, but he wanted to know who was missing first.

Wordlessly, he followed Caelus back through the Unseelie domain toward where he had left the others. _I should have ordered them to stay_ , he berated himself. _I have get better at controlling them._ The memory of his own forced submission to the Unseelie King's will was still fresh in his mind, though, and he was filled with revulsion at the thought of dominating the Hunters like that. What would it take to make him bend them to his will? Even leaving Fiorinor stranded on a moor until he was recalled made Rayce uncomfortable.

Ahead, a light grew brighter and brighter until they turned a corner and found a small Faerie fire burning in a wider section of tunnel. Baelerithon's shadow stretched behind him as he stood patiently with his arms folded across his chest. Rayce felt his guard snap up warily as he saw his brother waiting alone.

Bael's glittering black and amber eyes locked on to Rayce and Caelus as they rounded the bend, appraising every movement in a moment and filing away the information in his calculating mind. As they approached, Bael raised a slim, blue hand in a dismissive gesture. "Leave us, Caelus."

Accustomed to obedience, the Faerie ducked his head and slipped past Bael to rejoin the others. Baelerithon had been born to command, and it was second nature to him now. Rayce worried at how quickly the Hunter had complied; that was how the others should have responded to _his_ commands, not Bael's.

A mocking smile lifted Bael's lips. "Oh dear, brother. It looks as though you've let your temper get away from you." _How does he know?_

Refusing to be baited, Rayce tried to brush past the older Faerie and follow Caelus back to the others, but Bael blocked his way. It would be simple to _shift_ past him, but Rayce paused for a moment to think. Better to know his brother's mind than wonder what he might have learned by staying. He stepped back and waited.

"Poor Shadowhunter," Bael taunted. "No stele to heal your wounds?" He looked down at his hands and spread his fingers. "You know there's another way."

Rayce was tired, so tired, making it easy to look bored by his brother's play. Hadn't Bael been the one to teach him to reveal nothing? An old memory floated across his mind, one of his own, for a change. ' _It is far more difficult for your enemies to gain a hold on you if you provide nothing with which they might grapple_.'

"What game are you playing now, Bael?"

The former crown prince laughed. "There's only one game that matters, little brother. If you even need to ask, you only reveal yourself as much farther behind than you should be."

 _I should have just said nothing_. Rayce gestured to the stumps of Bael's once-magnificent wings. "The first round cost you heavily – how much more are you willing to gamble?"

Bael smiled darkly. "Who said that was the first round?" He stepped aside to let Rayce through and bowed disparagingly. "Your move, _my Lord_. You need only ask for my help when you're ready."

Rayce eyed him, suspicious of a hidden blade, but he ran out of time to wonder about it as a beautiful, clear note reverberated loudly through the tunnels around them. The bell-like echo was laced with an earthy scent that took Rayce back to his childhood. He felt himself begin to fade, and looked down _through_ his hands in astonishment as the summons of the Seelie Court caught him in its grasp.

Just before he vanished completely, Rayce heard Bael's voice call out over the harmonious note, "Give my regards to our sister!"

Rayce breathed in the air of the Seelie Court and tried to feel a hint of nostalgia, a pang of homesickness, but nothing came. This wasn't his home any more. _Sera._

Around him, the familiar tunnels remained empty; no other Hunters had been swept up by the summons. He felt the same tug in his chest as he had in the Unseelie Court, and he followed it to see what his sister was up to. When his path bent away from the throne room and led instead to the Queen's apartments, he understood immediately that this was intended to be a private audience.

The cloak's bond chafed as he was pulled this way and that by an invisible collar. First the Eternal Forest, then the rulers of the Courts. He had never stopped to consider that each would take the time to break in their new hound. Gwyn had chosen this fate, and he had worn the leash lightly through the centuries. Not so for Rayce.

Two Faerie knights stood on guard outside of his sister's new rooms and looked confused when they saw him coming, but one opened the door hastily as he glowered at the pair.

Inside, his sister turned from winding a small music box on a side table and gasped when she saw him. He was still bare-chested under the cloak, but it wasn't his clothing that had startled her. His beautiful smile had been replaced by a scowl, and his once-sparkling green eyes were filled with distrust, tainted by the darkness of the Hunt. He drew up just short of her and neglected to bow, giving her a haughty look instead.

"What do you want?"

The Seelie Queen's hand shot out and a stinging crack broke the quiet of her apartments as she struck his face unexpectedly. "You should be ashamed of yourself," she scolded. "I raised you better than that."

Stunned, Rayce's lips parted in disbelief, and he felt a spike of guilt cut through him, but it wasn't enough to overshadow his simmering anger at what had been done to him by the Unseelie King. He flipped one side of the cloak back and twisted so that his sister could see the bloody lashes across his back. "Do you want to punish me as well, sister?"

He shrugged the mantle back into place as she unconsciously covered her mouth with one hand. The glimmer of a tear shone in her eye but did not fall as she stared at him. "Rayce..."

"My Lady sent for me, and so have I come with all the speed of the wind. What service may I render you?" Gwyn's words spilled easily, mechanically, from Rayce's lips.

Uncertainty filled the Queen's eyes as she registered the dramatic change that had claimed her brother in so short a time. She felt like she didn't know him anymore.

"You wear the cloak, Rayce, and it comes with responsibility. The Eternal Forest starves, and the earth's magic flows only weakly. The Forest-"

"Yes, yes, the Forest, the Forest!" Rayce burst out, throwing his arms up in frustration. "Let it starve for all I care! Do you have any idea _why_ it was drained so suddenly? Do you know what the Unseelie _did_ to Alicante?"

"I know," she answered steadily.

His eyes flashed dangerously and she felt fear race through her blood as he loomed over her menacingly. "Did you know what they were planning beforehand?"

She looked up at him and held his gaze with her own. "No. I swear to you, brother. I did not know what the Unseelie King was engineering."

Rayce huffed and backed away, pacing restlessly like a caged animal. "Then tell me why I should care. Tell me why I need to close the eyes of the dead and bear them away from their families to vanish into deep Faerie forever. Tell me why I have to keep doing this until I'm killed for this cloak." Agitated, he ran his right hand back though his shock of white hair and the lights flashed off a ring that she didn't recognize.

The Queen took a deep breath. "You need to care because the ley magic is the life's blood of more than one thing, Rayce. Yes, it was used to destroy the city of glass. But it was also used to create the Rift, to fuel the ley line network that our people use to travel safely without crossing into the Mortal world." She paused and made sure that he was listening. "It also feeds the wards of the world."

"The wards..." Rayce trailed off.

"Yes," she said firmly. "But it's the Rift that is in danger now. It can barely sustain itself, and Sol's strongest spellcasters are doing everything they can to stabilize it. To do that, they need to have something to work with, and _you aren't giving it to them_."

He shook his head. "The Rift means nothing to me now."

"Would it mean more to you if you knew that your Sera was there right now?" The Queen's eyes were filled with challenge.

Rayce stopped and looked at his sister. "Why would Sera be in the Rift? And how would she even get there?"

Inwardly, the Seelie Queen nodded to herself. "She came here asking to be allowed entry, and Sol escorted her there himself." Rayce's eyes widened. His sister couldn't lie, and she was speaking plainly. "She's searching for a way to reclaim you for the Hunt."

He gaped. _I can't believe you're really doing this, Sera,_ _but I love you for trying. I'll love you forever for trying._

Arynessa closed the distance between them while he stood thunderstruck, and she reached out to gently stroke his reddened cheek. "I'm truly sorry for your sacrifice," she said softly. "It's not what I ever would have wanted for you." Her amethyst-coloured eyes were filled with sadness.

Out of the corner of his eye, Rayce caught a flash of scarlet on one of the low couches arranged around the sitting room as Sebastian leaned back and draped his arms along the cushions. "Ask her," he prompted.

Rayce hesitated, remembering what his father had said in the Eternal Forest. _He didn't say anything,_ Rayce thought angrily. _He's dead. He's not real._ But there had been a name... it had seemed vaguely familiar. He stalled.

"What _did_ you want for me?" he asked his sister, his face softening with curiosity. "Why _did_ you take me?"

Rayce had come to see in his adult life that his sister had given up a lot to be kept shuttered away from Court life for the better part of twenty years. Once he had been free to roam his mother's domain, he had heard many things, and he had grown increasingly curious about why she had sacrificed so much of her position in the Court to raise a half-blood prince like him. His heart lurched as he remembered reading in Seraphine's living room.

"Coward," Sebastian sneered.

"Rayce, I..." his sister began, but Rayce immediately cut her off, tired of his father.

"What did you do to Arthur Blackthorn?"

Surprise flickered across her face, and then... guilt? "Where did you hear that name?"

"Answer the question," he shot back.

"I wonder if you already know how entwined the answers to both of your questions are," she replied mysteriously. "But I will tell you. I _want_ you to trust me again, brother."

Doubt filled Rayce. His father had made it seem as though whatever the answer was would reveal his sister's darker side; why did she think it would be something to make him trust her?

The Queen crossed the room and took a seat on the couch where Sebastian had been lounging. The scarlet-clad Shadowhunter had vanished between one moment and the next, and Rayce had a hard time believing that he had even been there. _Why does he come and go like this? What wakes him?_ _Am I doing this?_

She beckoned for him to join her, and he sat down hesitantly, uneasy occupying the same space his father had. His sister took his right hand in her own gently and lightly traced the Voyance rune on the back of his hand.

"Many years ago, a Nephilim boy came to the realm of Faerie with his brother. They were very young - still students at the Shadowhunter Academy. They had never seen the lands of the Fey before, and were awestruck by the wonder they found here. In a twist of fate, they came across my twin sister, the Lady Nerissa. The elder brother was immediately enchanted by her and swore himself to her at once, vowing never to leave her side. The other Shadowhunter refused to leave his brother, and so remained in our realm.

"The elder brother was called Andrew; the younger was named Arthur." The Queen turned over Rayce's hand and absently trailed her fingertips along the inside of his forearm, following the slightly raised veins there as her memories carried her backwards through the years.

"Nerissa fell in love with her Shadowhunter boy," she said softly. "And how could she not? The blood of angels is a heady thing, Rayce, and to be loved by one of the Nephilim is as close to the love of Heaven as one may get." Her eyes slipped out of focus. "I wanted it, too."

Her nails pressed into his forearm as her lip curled up in remembered anger. "But he wouldn't love me _back_ ," she breathed. " _Arthur."_

Rayce watched as she regained control and her face smoothed over once more. She looked down and loosened her grip, now tracing the tiny dents she had made in his arm.

"I was so angry; I went to mother. She promised to teach me how to break him, and all I could think about was being close to her, to finally be the one she cared about." The Seelie Queen shook her head and avoided her brother's eyes.

"Years, Rayce. I did it for years. He was broken in less than one, but I kept torturing him anyway. Can you remember how you felt on the day of your Marking ceremony? The day our mother gifted you with the white gauntlets that would mark you as a prince of the Courts?" She waited for him to nod, and then closed her eyes. " _That_ feeling, Rayce. Knowing that she was proud of you. I was practically drunk on it in the beginning. I wanted to _be_ her.

"I kept Arthur Blackthorn chained like an animal, made him howl like an animal, watched him cower like an animal." She set her brother's hand down gently and reached up to brush away a tear from her eye. "But I was the real animal, Rayce. I started to hate myself, to hate what I was becoming, even as mother watched approvingly."

The Queen shivered and laced her fingers back into his for the strength to continue her confession. "The things I learned from her... I was scared, Rayce. Scared of how easy it was to watch impassively as a man howled until he choked on the blood from his own throat ripped raw from screaming. When mother's interest waned, I only tried harder, inspired to new depths of depravity to try to win her back.

"Nerissa was ashamed of me. Some nights, she and her Shadowhunter boy would hear Arthur's screams, and she would fill Andrew's ears with sweet half-truths to hide my wickedness. When he finally learned what was happening to Arthur, she wove a false story into their memories to try to mask what had been done, but I had done my work all too well. I doubt that Arthur's mind could ever have fully recovered from the horrors he suffered in Faerie. When my sister freed him, I was secretly relieved."

Rayce stayed silent. Sebastian had hinted that Arynessa's past would shatter her image in Rayce's mind, and it certainly had. He couldn't understand why she was telling him.

"Nerissa and Andrew had brought two children into our world together, and they were all that remained of the brothers who had so foolishly strayed into the realm of Faerie. My sister tried to love them, but they were only a part of him. She wanted all of him or none of him."

The Seelie Queen looked up at the ceiling of her apartments, surrounded in the splendour of rule that she had coveted for decades, and she tried not to cry.

"I offered to take those children as my own, to try to start over and make amends for all the suffering I had caused. My sister, my twin, the person I was closest to in this world, pulled away from me in revulsion, Rayce. She swore that I would never lay a finger on her children, and she sent them away to the world Above to be raised by their father, far away from me."

At last, the tears fell, splashing down to stain the white silk of her dress. "My sister died hating me," she whispered. "She gave up living because there was nothing left to live for, not even me."

She reached up to scrub away the tears, but was surprised when Rayce beat her to it, gently running his thumb across her cheekbone. His face was the one she remembered again, the one that had laughed and played in the boughs she had grown with Bael's help in the great room of their home, the same face that had grinned as Zeke had tried to hide his bottle of brandy from her and she had pretended not to notice.

A smile came to her lips unbidden. "Years later, you were born, and mother had neither the time nor the inclination to raise what might prove to be a bad investment. She offered you to any of her daughters, but I was the only one willing to take the chance. I knew I was consigning myself to near-exile until you were grown, but I also knew that this was my chance.

"I had grown up a lot in the intervening two decades, but mother was uncertain of me at first; worried, perhaps, that I would ruin her experiment before she could see if it had been a success. She set Bael to give you your lessons in Court etiquette, ostensibly, though I could have done the same, but also to keep an eye on me, I think. I was trying to be better, Rayce, I _wanted_ to be better."

The Queen wrapped her hands back around his and squeezed. "And you _made_ me better. You saved me from what I might have become." She shook her head wistfully. "You can't imagine what it's like, the love of the Nephilim. It's not like anything else in this world. You gave it so freely when you were a child, and then it was _me_ who was hopelessly ensnared. When Zeke joined us, you set yourself between him and my legs, absolutely determined that you would defend me to your last breath. My heart..." she trailed off. "That was a turning point for me, Rayce. I found Sol a few years later, and I was different. I could _love_ and _be_ loved."

Rayce inhaled deeply. He had never heard her speak so openly before. He found it refreshing.

His sister leaned over and tilted her head sideways to rest on his shoulder, her lilac-hued hair spilling over his chest and lightly tickling his bare skin. "If you believe nothing else, brother, believe that I loved you."

Rayce stirred. " _Loved?_ "

"Love," she corrected smoothly.

Distrust crept back into his mind like a weed, and he felt its roots twist back into heart. He rose from the couch and backed away, watching her.

The Seelie Queen stood, reflections of light glittering off the crown on her head, and his sister vanished back under the mask of a ruler once more.

"Take my advice brother: Do what you must to survive until it's your turn to be saved." She lifted a finger in warning. "But make certain that there's still a part of you that's worth saving."

A burst of radio static crackled in Rayce's mind and he heard panicked voices yelling for help over the roar and crackle of fire. More shouts and cries filled the background, and he sank to his knees, clutching at his head as the Eternal Forest made its desires known. It was in the mood for the most delectable of treats; the blood of fallen heroes, steeped in terror and allowed to marinate in pain before death. The Forest would not be denied.

The Queen of the Seelie Court looked down at her brother's suffering with pity in her eyes, and she reached down to lift his chin, granting a temporary relief from the onslaught.

"Do what you must to survive," she repeated. "And remember that she's out there counting on you to still be you if she breaks the cloak's hold."

Rayce squeezed his eyes shut. _Sera._

He staggered back to his feet and lurched away from his sister, wrenching open the door to her apartments and brushing past the guards outside. His head pounded in time with his steps as he left the heart of the Seelie Court behind. When he judged that he had gone far enough, he fumbled inside the cloak for a moment to withdraw the scuffed and battered horn from within.

Hands shaking, he lifted it to his lips and blew.

 _**Author's note: Chapter 14 became gloriously long as I added the next section, so I had to split it into 14 and 15. Enjoy the ride!_


	15. Chapter 15

**15**

The late afternoon light was fading away along the western horizon and darkness chased it back over the tops of the trees as the last glimmers sparked off the surface of Lake Matilija. The smell of char was sharp in the air from the smoke rising to the north, and Jace tested the wind again carefully.

He had set up a base camp along highway 33 just above Ojala with the hopes that the road would provide a sufficient fire break and safe escape route if things got too hot. He was counting on having the lake as an option for retreat if the dragon fire proved to be too much for Max and Magnus. The town had been evacuated hours ago, but it had been easy to slip past the barricades with his stolen prize and its deadly contents; a shiny red fire engine.

Sloping mountains enfolded the ragtag band of Shadowhunters and the pair of warlocks where they were scattered across the roadway around the lone firetruck, its red and white lights flickering hypnotically to give the scene a pulsing life of its own that ticked steadily closer to the pending battle. The truck's headlights had been left on, shining northward along the pavement toward where the fires were still burning out of control miles away.

Izzy, Simon, Rafe, and Max had arrived soon after the camp had been set up, and there had been a great deal of fierce hugging as the boys were reunited with their fathers. Jace was standing on top of the rig, surveying the others as they made ready to fight what he hoped wouldn't be another losing battle. He took a quick head count. _Unlucky thirteen._

Carolina Monteverde flashed a thumbs up at Jace from the south side of their camp as she jogged easily back up the deserted highway. "It's all clear, all the way down to Ojala," she called. The Argentine Shadowhunters had been out scouting for over an hour to make sure there weren't any Mundanes left in the area. Common courtesy, Jace had insisted, when dealing with dragon demons.

He jumped down and went over to the side of the road behind the firetruck where a handful of crates from the Adamant Citadel sat open. Simon was testing the draw on a bow nervously as Jace clapped him on the shoulder from behind, startling him.

"Jace," he gasped.

"Yeah, just me," Jace reassured him as he leaned against the crate Simon had been rooting through. "Not a dragon. Yet."

"So, uh, you're super sure that it _is_ dragons, right?" Simon fidgeted with a quiver of runed arrows. "Like, I mean, how do you _know_?"

Jace brushed his golden hair back out of his eyes with one black-gloved hand and shook his head wistfully. "Well, dear Simon, not to put too fine a point on it, but what goes up must come down, and after the first few giant, steaming piles of..." he trailed off as he caught sight of Izzy standing a few feet behind Simon. She arched an eyebrow at him and crossed her arms over her chest, unimpressed. "...tracks. Um. You can see where they landed." Izzy's nails drummed along her arm in warning as her dark eyes bored disapprovingly into her adopted-brother's. Simon looked bewildered at the loss of bravado, and Jace flashed a dazzling smile to cover. "And you know, the part where over 60,000 hectares of forest are already toast. It's a big tip-off."

Simon held up his hand cautiously. "So, what you're saying is, it could just _not_ be dragons, right?"

A look of hurt clouded Jace's features. "I thought _you,_ more than anyone, would be excited," he pouted.

"Oh, I'm excited," Simon protested faintly. "But for like, level 7 dragons. I'm not sure I'm ready for raid boss dragons right now."

Jace pushed away from the crate, and Izzy's watchful eyes, and moved over to join Alec and Magnus as they worked out the strategy with Max for the two warlocks in the battle to come. "Oh, where's mister 'I-killed-two-Greater-Demons' now? _"_ Jace swore under his breath.

He had already outfitted himself heavily from the Adamant Citadel cache, and had been forced to admit that Alec had been right about going to the Sisters. His thoughts strayed to the case Alec had showed him in private. They had both agreed that it needed to be saved for their most desperate hour, but Jace found himself wondering if they might have underestimated their need tonight. Thirteen against even just one dragon... it might be a closer fight than he would care to admit.

True night was settling in around them when Jace caught sight of powerful headlights cutting through the darkness, coming up from the south. Alec, Magnus, and Max turned their heads as one to follow Jace's line of sight, and a handful of heavy, military-looking trucks cruised up the highway toward them.

"It's okay, they won't be able to see us," Jace said unnecessarily.

The lead trucks rolled through the camp and stopped on the far side while the trailing vehicles swerved in to cut off the southern route. One came to a halt in the middle of the staging ground, just next to the stolen firetruck.

"Yeah, I think they can see us," Simon said sarcastically, already raising his hands in surrender.

The driver's door on the centre truck opened and a darkly-handsome man in his late thirties stepped out. An eye-patch covered his right eye and threaded back through his lush black hair casually, an old injury that had simply become part of the legend. The black jacket of his gear was detailed in silvery-white runes, and Jace groaned when he recognized the Centurion Executor emblem on the man's shoulder and cuff. He couldn't stand that jacket, or the man who wore it.

Other doors were opening, and more Centurions in regular gear were piling out onto the pavement. The Buenos Aires Shadowhunters dropped their hands to their weapons and faced outward at the threat, back-stepping slowly to form a tighter group to defend. A few of the Centurions lifted their crossbows defensively. Magnus stepped in front of Max protectively, and he saw Izzy do the same for Rafe across the road with Simon.

The one-eyed Centurion picked out Jace's scowling face and he threw his arms out wide in mock delight, cutting the tension in the air. "Herondale!"

Jace clenched his teeth in an approximation of a smile. "Rosales." He gave the barest of nods with his chin at the other man. "I thought you were on vacation for the summer."

Diego Rosales waved for his Centurions to stand down and then lowered his arms. "I was, until some idiot got himself thrown out on another sabbatical."

Jace grinned sheepishly. "Ah, yeah. Sorry about that. I didn't know they'd call you in to cover me." He rubbed the back of his neck guiltily. "How are Tara and the kids?"

The Centurion rolled his eye and otherwise ignored Jace, turning to face Alec instead. He nodded respectfully. "Consul."

The rogue Shadowhunters all took turns exchanging surprised looks with one another, and the Argentines took their hands away from their weapons slowly.

Alec lifted his eyebrows at Diego. "You're not going to arrest me, Executor?"

Diego shook his head, still smiling at managing to find this tiny band of rebels in the vastness of the Los Padres National Forest. "It wouldn't be the first time that I've made a judgement call while on assignment to put what was good ahead of what was right, Consul." He threw a glance over his shoulder at the assembled Centurions behind him, and then winked conspiratorially at Alec. "If you really were here, you must have escaped the notice of my entire team."

Jace blew a breath out through his nostrils sharply in annoyance at the swagger of the Centurion Executor. "Hey, is that winking or blinking for you?"

Diego continued to ignore Jace. "In fact, when I received override instructions from Alicante to come to your aid, there were suddenly many more Centurions available for the mission, and they were all just as eager to 'not see' you if we chanced to cross paths here."

"Override orders?" Jace interjected. "Whose?" _Maybe Everett is finally getting it together._

As a reward for contributing more than snide comments to the conversation, Diego favoured Jace with an answer. "The validation code belonged to Cinder Whitescar." He looked back at where Alec was standing thunderstruck by the news. "It looks like you still have friends in Alicante, Consul."

Diego lifted his arm and signalled to the two-dozen or so Centurions waiting for instructions, dispatching them swiftly, and then he nodded to Magnus and Max cordially. "I'm going to need you to provide cover for us if you can manage, and it would be best-"

"Hey!" Jace cut him off. "I've got this. I'm literally all over it." He made a shooing motion at Diego. "Go find your own warlocks. These ones are mine."

The Executor lifted his hands apologetically, and the Rosales family ring on the fourth finger of his right hand caught the last of the day's light. "My apologies. Please," he bowed theatrically. "Dazzle me, Herondale."

"More like _bedazzle_ you, Rosales," Jace shot back. He looked up at the night sky and then to where Magnus was holding back a grin and Max was making no effort at all to hide his delight. "Light it up, guys."

Jace backed up to give them space to work, and unintentionally stepped into hearing range of a quiet conversation between Izzy and a very affronted-looking Simon.

"...I'm just _asking_ if it might be _possible_ for Lord Montgomery to have an eye-patch, just once," Izzy muttered.

"Oh, my God, Iz," Jace hissed at her. " _Please_ don't tell me you're into the cyclops-pirate look!"

Mortified at being overheard, her eyes narrowed. "You're just jealous because he's younger _and_ hotter than you," she fired back. Simon's expression flattened as he tried to pretend that he wasn't hearing this, but Jace's mouth fell open.

" _Excuse_ you, but _I'm_ Mr. December. _He's_ only Mr. July." Jace threw his hands up in disgust. "Who even _cares_ about July?" He huffed loudly. Predictably, Diego continued to ignore Jace from where he was standing with Magnus and Max, watching as twisting blue tendrils of magic rose steadily from their outstretched hands.

Seeing that she was getting under Jace's skin, Izzy pressed her advantage. "July is _hot._ "

It was Simon's turn to gape at his wife. "Do you _have_ this calendar?" The conversation was no longer even remotely quiet, and there was a good mix of interested listeners and Shadowhunters who were desperately trying to ignore it. Carolina was nodding unconsciously.

Izzy's face flushed. _Busted._ "No. Umm..." She looked around for inspiration, and her eyes settled on her brother's back. "Alec does."

Alec's dark head whipped around. "I most certainly do _not,_ " he objected indignantly.

"You should!" Magnus called out, not taking his eyes off the rising patterns of magic as they began to take shape over head, spinning, flashing, and pulsing in the darkness. "It's fantastic! _Very_ tasteful seraph blade placement."

Jace, Simon, and Alec all had identical, appalled looks stamped across their faces, but were spared from further embarrassment as a deep roar of challenge rolled across the canopy from the north. It was go time.

"Very good, Herondale, you got its attention – now what?" Diego asked patiently as all eyes turned to watch for the demon's approach.

Jace flipped down the sleeves of his jacket after finishing one last _pyr_ rune and pulled the zippers down along his forearms. "Honestly, I was working on that part when you drove up. You kind of interrupted me."

Diego stared back at Jace, unable to tell if the other Shadowhunter was joking or not.

"No, really," Jace insisted. "I'm working on variations of 'bring it down' and 'kill it to death' right now. What do you think?"

The Executor shook his head disbelief. "I think there will be a vacancy for the Mr. December shoot next year."

Jace held up one finger and poked it at the Centurion's chest. "You know what? I'm going to live through this just to make sure you don't get it. I swear by the Angel."

One of the Buenos Aires Shadowhunters with a particularly fine far-sight rune spotted the dragon demon as it soared closer, and she yelled back to the others, pointing into the darkness. Magnus and Max let their signal dissipate, already preparing their next cast together. Dragons were incredibly sensitive to magic, particularly in the Mundane world, and it had been easy to lure one in from such a short range with the irresistible taste of warlock magic in the air. Jace had likened it to trailing blood in the water if you wanted to find sharks. Alec had not appreciated the metaphor.

Flinging open the cab door of the firetruck, Jace reached in and turned the keys in the ignition, bringing it rumbling back to life from auxiliary. He felt a kick of adrenalin shoot through his blood and he dropped back to the ground then grabbed hold of one of the ladders mounted to the side of the truck to climb back on top.

The dragon levelled off and skimmed along the tops of the trees, still cloaked in darkness, but it was now visible without the use of runes. Flames dripped from its jaws, and Jace said a brief prayer to Raziel as it lined itself up for the first pass. He clutched the ladder and pressed himself into the side of the truck, ducking his head into his left arm to shield his eyes.

With a roar, the demon opened its maw wide and a torrent of fire flooded down, strafing down the highway directly toward the staging ground. The firelight illuminated the dragon from below, showing a blackened underbelly of interlocking scales that may have once been red, but had become a dark, mottled mess in whatever demon realm it had come from. Sharp, black spines rose in a crest along its head, and its eyes were burning red orbs in the night. Great wings of the deepest scarlet were snapped tight as the monster glided right at them, streaming death.

Just outside the perimeter, the fire smashed down against an invisible wall of magic. Blue steam hissed upwards above the faded median line painted on the highway as the demon fire fell in a rain of destruction, and Magnus yelled in a combination of fury and strain from holding the shield in place as the dragon passed and the assault relented. Crossbow bolts from the Centurions twanged upward and skittered off the armoured underside of the dragon.

Magnus' chest heaved and he looked up at Alec with fear in his eyes. "We can't hold against that for long!"

Max took a deep breath, his eyes still tracking the dragon's flight, and he lifted his hands confidently. "We don't have to hold for long, dad, just for long enough!" His arms were sheathed in a navy glow up to his elbows, and the shield above the Shadowhunters pulsed strongly as he added his strength to his father's.

Jace heard Magnus' warning, and kicked himself up the ladder in double time, his heavy boots thudding along the roof of the truck as he ran for the back. Diego pulled himself up over the edge just as Jace threw himself behind the controls of the deck-mounted monitor.

He swung the nozzle around and almost knocked the Centurion off the truck with it as he struggled to track the demon's flight. "What the hell are you doing?" Jace shouted.

"What the hell are _you_ doing?" Diego yelled back.

The dragon tilted far to the left, almost seeming to balance on one wing as it turned around for another pass. Jace lined it up in his sights and counted steadily under his breath, trying to correctly gauge its speed. The reservoir tank in the truck wasn't very big; he was probably only going to get one shot to get this right. He was going to have to risk a third pass to get his timing down.

Irritated by its failure to roast the group of humans, the dragon roared again and swept past, spewing down another punishing deluge of flames that rolled off the barrier. The rush of air from its massive wings rocked Jace back from the controls and he tightened his grip, gritting his teeth and trying to see through slitted eyes.

"Whatever you're going to do, do it now, Jace!" Magnus howled from his knees, staggered by the crushing force of the demon's attacks.

"Get it down lower!" Jace bellowed back, flicking open a valve hurriedly.

"Oh, for the love of-" Magnus groaned loudly. He said something to Max that Jace couldn't hear, but he saw the young warlock nod quickly.

Alec shouted to the others, "Take cover! Get down! _Pyr_ runes at the ready!"

Grass fires burned along the side of the highway where they lay outside the protection of the warlock's shield, and the firelight flickered brightly across the pavement as Shadowhunters threw themselves inside the Centurion trucks, slamming doors closed as the dragon turned again in the distance.

Izzy's dark eyes were huge as she watched the demon line itself up for another run at the camp, and she threw a worried look sideways at where Rafe was pressed against the passenger-side window with anguish etched across his face, eyes locked on his brother still standing outside by the firetruck.

"Max..." he whispered.

Simon was breathing heavily in the seat behind her and fighting with the quiver of arrows across his back where it had snagged on the ceiling. As the dragon came in for the third pass, she reached between the seats and crushed his hand with hers, unable to look away from the demon's approach.

They could see Jace atop the rig at the controls for the turret, and Diego crouched down low next to him. Alec and Max were sheltering in the lee of the truck, but Magnus had stepped out around the front, back-lit by the glare of the headlights.

As the dragon winged closer, Diego yelled hoarsely to the Shadowhunters, "BRACE!"

Jaws splitting wide again, the monster let another inferno pour from its throat as it raced up the highway again.

In an explosion to rival any Fourth of July celebration, the air high above the staging area erupted in a riot of fireworks that boomed and crackled through the night, sending showers of multicoloured sparks and glitter raining down. The dragon was caught off guard, and instinctively dipped lower to avoid the burst of noise and light.

Flames licked through the shield in places, and the air flash-heated dangerously as the protection wavered under Max's sole control. The boy screamed in defiance just as Jace squeezed hard on the release for the rail gun and a jet of water shot out at over 1000gpm, scoring a hit along the left side of the dragon. Jace wrenched the turret around to keep the stream trained on the demon, his teeth clenched hard in focus.

A horrible screech ripped out of the dragon as the water sliced into it, and Jace's steady aim completely severed the beast's left wing with a sizzling, burning smell in the air that mingled unpleasantly with the smoke from the distant forest fires.

"What the hell was that?" Diego hollered at Jace over the demon's agonized roaring.

"Holy water!" Jace whooped, leaping away from the controls to follow the dragon's descent.

Unable to stay aloft with only one wing, the demon crashed down into the highway and skidded along heavily. Shadowhunters poured out of the trucks and raced to follow it, seraph blades springing to life in their hands.

Simon swung out of the backseat and gaped at the truck-mounted turret for a moment. "Holy blessed water cannon, Batman..." he breathed before his wife grabbed his arm and dragged him after the others.

Rafe was the only one to run backwards instead of forward, dashing to his brother's side where Max had collapsed. Magnus and Alec were already kneeling over the younger warlock in concern.

Simon and Izzy had almost caught up with the main group a little over a hundred yards down the highway, when the dragon reared back on its hind legs and used its remaining wing for balance on a wickedly-curved vestigial claw. Glowing red and orange scales dotted the crest of its spine as it drew its head back, breathing in deeply. The Shadowhunters dove wildly to the sides of the highway to get out of the deadly, and literal, line of fire, sliding into the ditches just off the soft shoulder of the road.

Izzy threw up her hand to protect her eyes from the searing brightness of the flames, and she measured the distance between herself and the dragon's range as it swung its head back and forth to widen the swath of destruction. _Gotta be fast_.

"Izzy!" Simon yelled as she suddenly sprinted forward, and he tried in vain to catch a grip on her sleeve. She pounded up the highway in three-inch heels, her boots laced tightly to her knees, fearless in the face of fire as her dark hair streamed out behind her when it fell loose and her chopsticks clattered to the ground.

Just as the raging wall of flames sputtered out, Izzy sprang forward, her whip uncurling at her side. The fire had blinded the dragon to her rush, and she took advantage of the element of surprise in a moment of respite from the inferno. She could feel her _pyr_ runes fading in the intense heat. _Gotta be fast_ , she repeated to herself, a litany to keep herself alive.

She fixed her eyes on the dragon's maw and came in low and fast, snapping her right arm forward with a grunt of effort as the length of electrum slapped against the scaly flesh and coiled tightly. She grasped the handle of the whip in both hands and yanked backwards with all of her strength, willing the wire to cut deep, and she was rewarded with a muffled roar of pain as the dragon tried desperately to open its mouth and its own strength forced the hated electrum deeper into its flesh, biting through the smaller scales. She released her grip quickly, wary of being dragged into range of its talons.

The Centurions scrambled out of the ditches and fell into formation around the dragon. Unable to properly use its most deadly weapon, small flames streamed from its nostrils as it snorted in rage and pain. Its heavy tail whipped around, catching two of the closest Centurions off-guard with a heavy blow that sent them flying through the night.

Slashing with its remaining wing, the demon backed away slowly, growling in its throat, but it couldn't escape the circle of the Shadow World's most elite killers. Seraph blades shone as the Centurions darted in toward the dragon in sequence, drawing it first one way and then the next. Jace dodged and dipped among them until he managed to shear through whatever the dragon equivalent of a left ankle was with Diego's help.

Completely disabled on one side, the dragon fell heavily, and the Shadowhunters moved in for the kill, slicing in with surgical precision while ducking attacks from the monster's right wing. In less than a minute, the demon began to crumble in on itself, its life-force spent in the Mortal world.

Everyone was breathing hard around the patch of pavement where dragon blood was rapidly fading into mist. Simon stared in awe and numbly held out the pair of chopsticks to his wife without taking his eyes off the ground.

"I don't know if I should feel happy or sad about killing a dragon," he said with a touch of confusion in his voice.

"Happy," Jace called out. "Definitely happy."

Alec, Magnus, and Rafe were coming down the highway slowly, with the older Shadowhunter carrying Max gently in his arms. Jace sprinted back to them with fear in his eyes, and Izzy and Simon were hard on his heels.

"It's okay," Magnus said, seeing Jace's distress. "He's just exhausted. He'll be fine with a bit of rest."

"Consul!" One of the Centurions shouted, pointing further down the road that led down to Ojala. "Someone's coming!"

Headlights wound slowly toward them, and Simon shot a look at Jace. "Think _they_ can see us?"

"I don't even know anymore," Jace answered tiredly, scanning the sky. "But there was definitely more than one dragon, and I'm more worried about that than an ominous minivan. We have no way to fight these things in the air, and I'm quietly freaking out about that right now, okay?"

"I'm _very_ qualified to deal with minivans," Simon assured him, moving away from the others to intercept the vehicle if it turned out that the driver _could_ see them.

Fires still burned along the edges of the roadway, illuminating the battered and faded red minivan as it rolled to a stop. The engine cut out and the dome light inside clicked on to reveal a white-blond head ducking out of the door.

" _Mark?"_ Simon gasped.

"People always seem so surprised to see me," the half-Shadowhunter answered lightly.

"I'm surprised," Simon sputtered. "I'm very surprised. How did you even find us?"

Mark tilted his head to one side and his fair hair fell back, exposing the slightly-pointed tips of his ears. "Even you should be able to hear them soon," he said dreamily.

"Hear what, Mark?" Simon asked, his voice climbing in panic. "More dragons? Because I'm okay with not hearing more dragons. Been there, done that, will get the T-shirt at my earliest possible convenience. Dragons are officially checked off my bucket list."

"We've got incoming!" Diego yelled over the group, pointing back toward the northern line, where the fires had advanced noticeably since nightfall. The orange-red glow of the flames lit the billowing smoke from below and gave the sky a sinister cast in the distance. Silhouetted against the nightmarish sky, the shadow of a second dragon was winging its way toward them.

Rayce bent low over his horse's neck as he raced through a sky that was filled with smoke and ash from the burning forest below. The pressure in his skull had lessened as the Hunt had drawn nearer to the blaze, and he knew in his sinking heart that he was running out of time; somewhere down there he would soon find the feast the Forest craved.

A monstrous shadow sliced through the haze below them in a flash of dark wings, and Rayce wheeled around, stunned. _Was that a dragon?_ The other Hunters streamed past him, knifing northward toward their target, but Rayce urged his mount lower to follow the dragon, and as he dropped out of the clouds, he was surprised to see a lone firetruck standing abandoned with its lights flashing wildly in a ring of blocky vehicles.

Small scales along the dragon's back glowed orange and red for a moment just before it unleashed a gout of fire downward, and Rayce was astonished to see it break apart against a faint blue shield of magic. _Someone's down there!_ He could almost swear that he could see the familiar light of seraph blades as the people raced back toward the flashing lights.

He reached into his cloak to withdraw the horn again, sounding a long, ringing note across the night to call the Hunters back to his side once more. Assorted steeds descended from above as the others watched him disdainfully.

"Bring it down," Rayce commanded, pointing at the dragon. "Protect whoever is down there!"

Vindictus glared back at Rayce. "We're not here for them, _boy."_

"Let them burn," Fiorinor hissed, recalled from his banishment on the moors by the first blast of the horn in the tunnels of the Seelie Court.

"They mean nothing to us," Azad added.

"I didn't ask for your opinions," Rayce snapped. "Just do it! And you will _not_ attack anyone or anything except that dragon," he added carefully.

With murder glinting in their eyes, the Hunters were forced down into the fray by the compulsion of the cloak, and Rayce felt soiled inside. _I have to do it,_ he said to himself. _They won't survive._

Magnus staggered after holding back the newest blast of fire, and Rafe was there immediately, lifting his father's arm across his shoulders while Alec continued to carry Max as they made a run back for the comparative safety of the base camp.

"I can't... I can't keep this up," Magnus mumbled weakly.

Centurions loped along in a loose circle around them with their seraph blades shining brightly, staying close to lessen the burden that creating a larger shield caused Magnus.

"We'll think of something," Alec reassured him, holding Max more tightly and trying to force away the memories of rocking him like this as a child. _It's going to be okay_ , he promised himself.

Mark ran easily at the front of the group alongside Jace, and they were among the first to get back to the staging area. Jace pointed wordlessly to the crates from the Adamant Citadel, and Mark immediately began rooting through the contents to find something that suited him.

A long blast on a horn cut across the sky above them, and Mark's head snapped up eagerly, his bifurcated eyes shining with excitement in the firelight.

"They're here," he breathed, closing his eyes with ecstasy written across his features.

"Who's here?" Jace asked. When no response came, he shook the other man by the arm. "Mark. Mark! Snap out of it!"

Mark blinked his eyes open slowly as if awakening from a dream, and then his gaze refocused on Jace. "I'm so sorry... I forget sometimes... the Hunt calls so strongly tonight. I have not felt like this in years."

"The _Hunt_?" Jace said incredulously as Mark bent back over the edge of the crate, digging deeper toward the bottom.

As if on cue, riders dropped through the clouds above and intercepted the dragon as it was making the long turn for another pass. Like a swarming cloud of deadly wasps, the Hunters flitted around the massive form of the dragon and captured its attention. Twisting in mid-air, the demon loosed a burst of fire at the Faerie steeds, but they were gone before it could get a lock on them.

Emerging triumphantly from the cache, Mark held a long coil of electrum wire that had been carefully bundled by the Iron Sisters. Before Jace could ask what exactly the slightly unstable Shadowhunter thought he was going to do with it, a black horse landed lightly on flaming hooves next to the pair. Mark backed away in confusion from this stranger who bore Gwyn's mantle and studied him carefully, no doubt catching a glimpse of the Voyance rune on the back of Rayce's hand and the network of faded rune scars across the bare chest under the cloak.

"Jace?" The Lord of the Hunt tried to hide his amazement. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, you know," Jace replied airily, waving his hands in a dismissive gesture. "Dragons, raging infernos, almost certain death... the usual. You?"

Rayce didn't laugh or even smile. "There are Mundane firefighters trapped much further in, and the Hunt has been sent to... collect them... once their suffering ends."

Sobered at once, Jace threw a glance over his shoulder to where Alec was helping Max sit up while Magnus and Rafe watched anxiously. Almost as if he sensed his parabatai's eyes, Alec looked up and nodded once for him to go.

Jace looked back up at his nephew, his golden eyes burning brightly in the firelight. "Scooch forward, then. You've got room for one more on that nightmare."

Sweeping his cloak over to one side, Rayce made enough room for Jace to squeeze in behind him, and all doubt that he was doing the right thing was wiped from his mind after seeing the faces of the Shadowhunters. Nearly every one of them was staring at him, not in disgust, but in awe, and many in gratitude. _This is what I'm supposed to be doing_ , Rayce said to himself fiercely.

Just as they lifted off, Jace twisted in the saddle and cupped his hands around his mouth to yell back down at the Shadowhunters he was leaving behind, "You're _still_ not in charge, Diego! Mark's got a plan! Make it happen!"

All eyes turned toward the half-Faerie who still looked like he was barely out of his teens, and Mark shifted uncomfortably. Few here would even know his story after the Clave had sought to erase the embarrassment from their records, but one of them had a very good reason to know who he was.

"Mark... Blackthorn?" Diego said haltingly, stepping forward cautiously, uncertain of what the other man's reaction might be.

Blue and gold eyes snapped up at hearing his name, and they searched the dark features of the man for any hint of recognition. It had been twenty hard years for the Centurion, and the missing eye made it more difficult, but Mark quickly put two and two together. " _Perfect_ Diego," he replied, mouth twisting with distaste. "Less than perfect now, it would seem."

"Is Christina..." he started to ask.

"Her name does not belong on your lips, trickster," Mark hissed venomously. "She is safely out of your reach."

Diego bowed his head in resignation. "I'm so sorry, Mark, for everything. After we-"

"Save your words, liar." He turned his face away to find someone else in the crowd to help him, and he found Simon and Izzy watching sadly. Their pity cut him, but he shoved it aside, hefting the coil of electrum again gleefully, his mercurial mood shifting again. "Come! We have a dragon to catch!"

Mark turned and sprinted away northward along the highway. Izzy smiled widely and followed after him. Simon looked up and might have mouthed _'Why me?'_ , but he raced after his wife without another moment of hesitation.

Diego split his remaining Centurions, leaving a half-dozen of them with the Consul and his family until they could recover sufficiently, and then sent the rest to follow his rival. He stopped at the Adamant Citadel crates to find a second coil of electrum and looped it over one shoulder before dashing away.

Rubbing at his eyes tiredly, Max watched the Shadowhunters depart with guilt heavy in his stomach. _They don't have any protection!_ His brother and fathers were beside themselves with worry, and Magnus was carefully checking his son's vitals when Rafe threw up his hands impatiently.

" _Díos,_ this is crazy." He took his brother's hand in his own. "Take my strength, Max. You are more important to this fight than I am."

Alec and Magnus exchanged a glance laced with emotion as they were briefly transported back in time to a pick-up truck floating in the East River.

"He's right," Alec said, offering his hand to his husband. "We need you both." Magnus clasped his hand gratefully and opened a link between them immediately, but Max hesitated.

"Rafe... you'll miss out on everything..."

"Please," Rafael snorted. "I do not suffer from uncle Jace's terminal case of hero-itis. I have a much more rare condition called _practicality._ A pity that he seems immune to catching it." He grinned down at Max. "Do it, little brother."

Simon slapped a branch out of his face again and reached up for another handhold, huffing with annoyance. On one hand, he hated climbing trees, but on the other hand, his wife was above him and he had the best view possible. Unfortunately, she was quite a bit faster, and he was falling too far behind to properly appreciate her... skill.

"Hey, Spider-Woman, slow down up there, okay? I suck at climbing."

He heard her make a very unladylike noise, and then she called back down to him, "Do you want to try it in three-inch heels? Because that can be arranged. And don't even think about calling me Spider-Woman; I'm not into Jessica Drew."

"What!? Come on! She's _so_ you!" Simon pulled himself up level with his wife as she expertly wound a few loops of electrum around the trunk and then edged down a branch with the rest of the coil in hand. She tossed it down into the waiting hands of a Centurion and then watched as it was heaved back up into the boughs of a second tree across the road into the waiting hands of Carolina Monteverde.

"No way. I'd rather be Rogue." A wide smile spread across Izzy's generous mouth and her eyes sparkled as she hopped down a few branches. "I'd get to _fly_." The coil was dropped back down to the relay man in the centre of the road again and Izzy got ready to catch it.

"Okay, but that would be slightly fatal for me," Simon protested. "There are loads of other ways you could get to fly. And she doesn't start off with flight."

She snagged the bundle of electrum as it arced up and then passed it back to her husband to wrap another few loops around the trunk. "But I kind of like the idea of sampling other superpowers. Best free samples ever."

Simon tossed the lump back to her and then caught himself on a branch before plunging to his death as he overbalanced. "You need to reread those, honey. I don't think you fully understand the whole transference thing."

"Well," she replied as she made another good throw to the Centurion below. "Why don't you explain it to me in _detail_ once we're done here."

"Oh, I will," Simon promised.

Mark paid no attention to the Shadowhunters busily rigging electrum across the highway behind him. Seeing Diego Rosales' face again had been an unwelcome blow from his past, but he had a far more difficult one to face now if his plan was to succeed. He turned his Hunter's eyes upward to watch the aerial battle still taking place between the demon and his former brothers. They lacked the weapons to properly harm the dragon, but they had the manoeuvrability that the Nephilim so desperately needed.

His sharp eyes picked out individual mounts, and he felt the names of the Hunters to whom they belonged dredge up different memories from his past. Would he ever forget their cruelty? Gwyn had only been able to do so much without losing face. He couldn't be seen to favour a half-breed like Mark.

Finally, he found the one he was searching for, and with only a slight hitch in his breath, he raised his fingers to his lips and let loose a shrill whistle that was achingly familiar. A white steed immediately dropped away from the circling, snapping fight above and fell like a star from the heavens.

White mane flying in the breeze, Windspear bore Kieran down to where Mark waited. The former Unseelie prince didn't dare to breathe when he saw who was standing in the pale moonlight with white-blond hair shimmering faintly to announce his presence. _My Mark._ His heart pounded in anticipation.

The horse landed lightly, red eyes burning in the darkness, and she nuzzled into Mark's shoulder familiarly. He reached up without even thinking to stroke her neck. The feel of the silky mane triggered memories that pulled at him like an undertow, begging him to let go and let himself be swept away and return to the Hunt once and for all. He closed his eyes and leaned in, inhaling the familiar, wild scent of the mount, absorbing the strength he felt radiating from her flanks.

Tears fell unbidden as he ducked his head, trying to hold on, but he had never imagined that it would feel like this after so many years. He squeezed his eyes tighter as a sob escaped from his throat and he struggled to master the frustration of only being Unbound and not being truly freed. He _wanted_ to return. _Wanted_ to feel the rush of the wind in his hair. _Wanted_ the wild joy that came from diving hundreds of feet down through the air only to level off and spiral back into the clouds. More than anything though, he just plain _wanted_.

Kieran watched him through half-veiled eyes of black and silver that shone with need. Here was the proof that Mark had chosen wrongly. Here was all the validation he had ever needed in keeping their love alive for all these years. The years had left no trace on his Shadowhunter's face after all this time, and Kieran felt hope bloom inside his heart at the thought of starting over together. _No more tricks,_ he swore. _I can be the man he deserves._

"Mark..." he whispered, hesitant to break the silence that had lain between them for twenty years.

The Shadowhunter looked up and tear tracks streaked his cheeks. Inwardly, Kieran flinched to see him look so... devastated. Whatever hold the Hunt had on his heart was tearing him apart, and guilt twisted inside the Unseelie when he remembered his own part in deceiving Mark about being able to return to his family.

"Kier..." Mark drew in a shuddering breath, still trying to regain control. "I need you."

 _I need you, I need you, I need you._ The whispered words echoed in Kieran's mind tantalizingly. Everything he had ever wanted was within reach again.

"Tell me," he murmured back.

"The Hunt... the dragon. The Shadowhunters can kill it, but they need you and our brothers to drive it toward the trap they're weaving with electrum wire." Mark gestured faintly back down the road to where a group of Nephilim were watching the deadly dance between the Fey and the demon as others finished tossing the coils back and forth. Kieran couldn't see any wire, but it was so fine that it would be nearly invisible in the darkness.

It wasn't precisely the need that he had been hoping for, but it had opened a crack in the door that slammed shut two decades ago.

"Ride with me," Kieran breathed, masking his excitement.

Mark looked up at him, aghast. "They'll _kill_ me, Kier. They hate everything I am. Shadowhunter. Half-breed. Unbound. Only Gwyn's command stayed their hands, and I do not know if death would have released them from obeying his orders." He shook his head. "Please do not ask this of me."

Kieran's mind raced to find another way, but Mark was right. Better if the other Hunters did not see him. He trailed his fingers through Mark's hair lightly, just once. "Then I can wait, Mark. I told you once before; you are all that exists on the earth and under the sky that I do love. What I do tonight, I do for you."

With an aching tug under his ribs, Mark watched Kieran break into a gallop astride Windspear and then climb back into the night sky to brave the fury of a dragon. He sank to his knees and buried his face in his hands as his emotions twisted inside him. _So close_ , _but still so far_.

"Remember her," Diego's voice called out in a tone of unmistakeable warning from the darkness behind him, snapping him back to reality and away from lonely glaciers under the northern lights. "You made a promise."

"I don't need _you_ to tell me that," Mark seethed back over his shoulder. But inside, where he could be honest with himself, he did. Gathering up memories of his beautiful Christina, and the smiling faces of Lucas, Micaela, and little Esmeralda, Mark armoured himself in his love for his family and he felt the pull of the Hunt recede once more. He wrapped his arms around his chest as if to hold the pieces of himself together, and he whispered their names over and over as he had once done with the names of his brothers and sisters.

 _Don't forget._

"Why aren't you wearing a proper belt?" Jace shouted over the rush of the wind. "Or a shirt? What the hell am I supposed to hang on to?" He tried to wedge his fingers under the strap that held Gwyn's sword sheathed at Rayce's side, but it had sunk embarassingly low. He eyeballed the harness for the double-bladed staff Rayce wore and wondered if it would hold.

"I lost both," Rayce answered. "But I suggest that you hang on soon."

"You must be absolutely _terrible_ at strip poker-" The black steed of the Lord of the Hunt plunged forward and Jace wasn't sure if he was screaming in exhileration or terror as he threw his arms around Rayce's waist. The steelwood shaft jammed painfully against his chest and he thumped his nephew hard on the leg to signal his disapproval.

They had left the other Nephilim and Hunters behind, galloping far to the north through thicker clouds of smoke as they crossed over areas that were actively burning. Rayce seemed to be guided by some inner instinct that Jace couldn't fathom, because he led them almost directly toward a forested parcel of land that backed up against a canyon. The giant hulk of a third dragon was diving in low along the edge of the flames and then back up, and Jace could see humans retreating through the woods. _Firefighters_ , he noted in amazement. How had Rayce known?

The team looked to be in bad shape; they were cut off from the escape route they had prepared, and they were trying to stay ahead of the line of fire as it advanced unpredictably.

Rayce pointed as the dragon swooped down again and fanned the flames. "Its changing which way the fire is burning!" he yelled back at Jace. "They'll never see it coming – it'll look like some freak accident!"

Jace swore under his breath. A dragon that liked to play with its food. _Great. Just great._ The demon dived down again and puffed a harsh jet of fire through the trees back toward the firefighters, catching one of them as they ran from this unpredictable blaze. Faint screams reached the two Shadowhunters even where they hovered above the scene, and they wore identical expressions of horror.

"You need runes if you're gonna fight that thing," Jace said over the roar of the fire below.

"No stele," Rayce grunted as he guided the steed closer, trying to avoid the dragon's notice.

Jace pulled his stele free from his jacket. "Don't worry, I've got you covered. Good thing you aren't wearing a-" Jace's voice choked off as he flipped up the edge of the cloak and found the bloody mess underneath. _By the Angel,_ Jace thought, _and I just crushed myself against him._

"What the _hell_ , Rayce?" He started sketching _iratzes_ immediately and he felt the younger Shadowhunter flinch away from the burn of the stele even as the lash marks began to close over. The Hunter's only response was to reach back and snatch the staff out of the way.

Darkly, Jace was drawn back to the travelling apartment he had shared with Sebastian for weeks. He could remember the same set of scars layered across a different pale back, and his heart broke to know that the son had not escaped the father's fate.

With the worst of the wounds closed over, Jace carefully began laying battle runes as Rayce shifted uncomfortably. Agility, Strength, Fortitude, and Endurance spiralled out from the stele, and Jace belatedly added a pair of _pyr_ runes just as Rayce shrugged him away.

"Take it easy, Jace. My Faerie half isn't exactly fond of being Marked." The cloak fluttered back down across his back and he flexed his shoulders to clear the lingering discomfort.

"You seemed fine in Idris!" Jace tucked the stele back into his jacket and then zipped it back up. _Really hope I don't need that again any time soon,_ he prayed.

"Sera's never hurt me," Rayce responded, almost too quietly to hear.

Below them, the dragon breathed a wall of fire across the retreat the firefighters were using. They were trying to get to the canyon that dropped off behind the tree line with the hope that the fire wouldn't be able to reach them once they were on solid rock, but the demon was determined to keep them penned up in a fiery box as it slowly constricted around them.

Jace assessed the situation, leaning over in the saddle to get a better look at what they were dealing with. The demon was huge; it had to be nearly 200ft long from nose to tail, and it was covered in thick scales. _Thick scales that it might not feel too much through..._ "Can you get us on its back?"

Rayce twisted around incredulously. " _Can_ I? Yes. _Should_ I?"

"Also 'yes'," Jace supplied helpfully.

"I'm having a lot of trouble understanding how you've managed to live this long," Rayce said doubtfully as he took them lower and lower, staying in the dragon's blindspot directly above it.

"A healthy diet and exercise, to be honest," Jace answered. The Hunter just shook his head.

"Get ready," Rayce warned as he brought them level with the dragon's spiny back just as it swung around from sending another rush of air from its wings drafting back into the fire to turn it again, this time adding another torrent of flames to hasten the burning. More screams rose from below and panicked shouts for help cut through the air. Rayce dismissed his Faerie steed with a thought and both Shadowhunters dropped the last few feet to the hard, black scales of the demon.

Jace immediately flattened himself out and spread his arms and legs for stability, digging his fingers in around the edges of the scales and not finding much to grip; they were tightly-packed. He felt the rough hide of the demon scratch up his face and he lifted his head gingerly to prevent himself from getting cheese-grated. Rayce stayed in a low crouch, his staff held ready in both hands.

Wind streamed past them, flattening their hair, and Rayce watched as if in slow-motion as the ground crept into view off the dragon's left side. "It's turning!" he yelled in warning.

Desperately, Jace tried to wedge his hands in deeper, but he felt his legs start to slide sideways as his boots failed to find purchase. A spiky black spine rose from one of the knobby bones along the dragon's back, but it was too far to try for now.

Rayce felt himself slipping, and he twisted to brace himself on his knees. Out of time to think, he slashed down into the scales and cut a pair of deep gouges with the twin _adamas_ and electrum halves of his double-bladed staff. He jammed his hands into one of the wounds and Jace lunged forward to do the same, even as the flesh underneath squelched disturbingly.

The dragon roared as it realized it had passengers, and the turn suddenly became a roll as it tried to shake them free. Both Shadowhunters held on for dear life as the world spun dizzyingly and they hung suspended from their tenuous grips, their feet dangling fifteen stories off the ground.

"Rayce!" The scale that Jace was hanging onto started to peel back like a rotten toenail and he clutched at it frantically as he lurched lower. The next beat of the dragon's wings rocked the Shadowhunters and jarred the scale free entirely.

Jace screamed as he fell, his eyes locked on Rayce in terror, and he honestly thought that he had blacked out when the boy vanished, until he felt a pair of strong arms close around his chest for an instant. A horrible, sickening, _squeezing_ pressure crushed in around him and then he felt the demon's scales under his knees again. Without pausing, Rayce grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet.

"Go, go, go! Run with it! Don't stop!"

The dragon was still spiraling lazily, and they ran along its underbelly in the most dangerous log-roll of their lives. Rayce dove forward as a wing came pounding downward, and Jace narrowly missed getting sent on another impromptu skydiving attempt.

"Ra- _ziel!_ " he swore, legs pumping to keep up with the spin.

The monster leveled off again, and they could see its head dip down and scan from side to side, no doubt searching for screaming bodies falling to the ground.

Rayce's mind was ripping through possible ways to disable the dragon as Jace fell to his knees again, retching from the sensation of _shifting_ for the first time. The staff had already proven effective against the demon's armoured scales, but they didn't have time to rip it apart like that. _Come on,_ he screamed at himself. _Think!_

He wracked his brain for anything he knew or had ever read about dragons, and time seemed to stand still for a moment as he received advice from the most unlikely source possible. " _A dragon's eyes are its weakest point,"_ Sirius Black had written to Harry Potter. He looked down at his staff and everything clicked into place.

"Jace! Come on! I've got it!" He pulled at the older Shadowhunter, who managed to push himself up while shaking his head.

Under their feet, some of the smaller scales on the dragon's back began to burn with an orange or red glow, and Rayce recognized what was happening a moment before the flames streamed backwards over them. He shoved Jace into the lee of one of the blackened spines and then dropped down on top of him, ducking as best he could under the cloak for whatever protection it might offer. It stood to reason that it couldn't be easily destroyed, and if it could, so much the better for Rayce if he didn't end up barbecued.

The heat was unbearable and he couldn't breathe; there wasn't enough oxygen for him _and_ the firethat burned around him. Both men screamed from behind the meager cover of the bony protrusion and the cloak as the dragon tried to burn them off its back. Their _pyr_ runes flared in response to the threat and protected them from the being crisped instantly.

When the inferno vanished, smoke rose from their clothes and Jace lifted his head in amazement when he realized they were both alive.

Rayce split his staff into its two halves and offered one to Jace. "Do _not_ drop this!" he shouted.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" Jace hollered back, shaking the half-staff at him.

Stepping in quickly, Rayce pulled his uncle back into his arms one more time and then whipped his head back to sight his target; the demon's head. _Shifting_ across the distance in a heartbeat, they now stood on one of the horned ridges above the dragon's glowing red eye. Rayce leaped across to the other side and raised his half of the steelwood staff high, its blade drinking in the light of the fire that glowed dully inside the monster's maw.

"One!" he yelled.

Catching on, Jace lifted his half. "Two!"

"THREE!" They shouted together as they plunged the blades down. _Adamas_ and electrum sheared through the vulnerable eyes easily and the dragon went berserk under them.

Jace's gloves creaked as he tightened his hands into a death grip on the weapon and the demon bucked wildly, now flying blind. Rayce dropped suddenly, forcing the killing edge in deeper, searching for the brain underneath to end the fight swiftly. The older Shadowhunter immediately copied him, twisting the shaft as he bore down harder amidst the deafening shrieks coming from the dragon's throat.

The ground rushed up to meet them as the beast lost all control, and Rayce was halfway up to his elbows in gore before he realized the danger and ripped the staff back out.

Jace threw a terrified look down at the burning treetops that were close enough to see clearly and he wrenched his arm back. "Get us out of here!"

Rayce threw himself forward and collided with Jace, not pausing as he swept him up into his arms and _shifted_ them away into mid-air for a short drop before summoning his Faerie steed once more. The horse lifted away from the falling bulk of the dragon as it writhed in its death throes, and Jace unclenched his eyes long enough to look up at his nephew's ashen face.

"My hero," he panted tiredly before letting his head fall back against Rayce's bare chest.

The demon's body smashed down through the trees and landed heavily inside a ring of fire before it began to dissolve and vanish back to its home dimension.

"No," Rayce whispered in horror.

One of Jace's eyes cracked open. "Hey, I didn't drop it." He lifted the piece of the staff and waved it. "It's all good."

"The Mundanes," Rayce breathed, bringing Jace back to his senses.

"What about them?"

Rayce looked down at where the dragon had landed, where silence had fallen, save for the crackle of the fire. "They were down there."

"Do you have any idea how much XP this would be worth?" Simon asked his wife as the demon's body began to smoke and dissipate from within the tangle of broken electrum wire and pieces of the trees that had been ripped out by the force of its impact with their trap. " _Two_ dragons in one campaign."

Max high-fived his uncle weakly, completely drained from providing an encore round of protection for the Centurions who had waded into the melee against a dragon for the second time that night. Magnus was sitting next to his son, his forearms balanced on his knees as he fought to stay conscious. Even with Alec's strength added to his own, it had been a _very_ close call.

The Hunters who had baited the trap kept their distance, watching the Nephilim from the shadows deeper back in the trees. Simon shivered when flashes of light reflected back off the coloured eyes of some of the Faeries like wolves in the darkness. He could feel the _otherness_ of the warriors, and he wasn't the least bit ashamed to admit that it scared the crap out of him. He really wished Rayce would come back. It felt _slightly_ safer with him here.

As if thinking about him had summoned him, a black horse came skimming over the treetops with two riders on its back, and there was an almost-silent sigh of relief around the circle of gathered Shadowhunters as it touched down on the pavement and Jace swung down out of the saddle. He ran to Alec first, embracing his brother fiercely, and then Izzy was there and he reached out to pull her in as well, because that's what you did when you lived through something like this. You had to _feel_ them living and breathing to believe it was really true.

When they broke apart, Jace wasn't wearing his trademark smile, and Simon saw that Rayce was similiarly sobered.

"You said you're supposed to look happy about killing a dragon," Simon ventured. "You guys don't look happy. Did you kill it?"

Jace shared a long look with the Lord of the Hunt and nodded slowly. "Yeah, we killed it. But we didn't save the firefighters."

Izzy's hand flew up to cover her mouth. "Oh, Jace! It's not your fault!" She moved to put her arms back around him comfortingly, but he shrugged her off just as Rayce's low voice cut in.

"It was mine," he confessed.

Some of the Hunters in the trees were listening carefully, and Simon was pretty sure he caught some feral smiles out there.Seeming to sense the shift in energy behind him, Rayce turned and lifted his arm, pointing back the way he had come and dismissing them to their work without a word.

"You can't just take them!" Diego burst out angrily, brandishing his seraph blade threateningly. "They have families! Children and spouses who need to grieve properly!" He stepped forward with deadly grace. "I won't allow it."

Rayce squeezed his eyes shut as blinding pain ignited in his mind at the threat to the Forest's harvest. With a low moan, he dropped to his hands and knees on the pavement, and the Shadowhunters looked around at each other in confusion.

"You don't understand," Rayce said through clenched teeth. "I don't have a choice."

"Like Hell you don't," another one of the Centurions said, drawing her own weapon and circling closer. "Call off your vultures and let the dead rest in peace."

Rayce's head spun and the scene seemed to stretch and blur as the pain ripped through him. His shoulders shook, and he wasn't sure if he was crying or laughing at this point, but he felt dangerously close to the edge. He looked up, searching the Nephilim for a familiar scarlet jacket that he was certain would be there, but a quiet voice diffused the growing tension.

"Leave him alone." Mark Blackthorn stepped out of the trees on the opposite side of the highway from where the other Hunters had waited and watched. His mismatched blue and gold eyes caught the light of the fires burning in the scrub along the ditches, and it was hard to miss the unmistakeable stamp of the Hunt.

"Most of you do not know me," he said, raising his voice. "And your Clave did not want you to because I bear the taint of the Hunt. I have lived apart from the Shadow World for twenty years, cursed to hear the call of the Hunt, but no longer bound to obey it." His melodious tone captured the battered Nephilim around him and held them motionless as Rayce panted quietly in the centre of the ring of Shadowhunters.

"I have ridden the winds of the world to gather the dead and bear them to deep Faerie. I have lived that life, and I swear to you by the Angel that what he says is true. The Hunt is bound in service to a power far greater than any one man, and no one here can keep that wheel from turning. You must not hold him accountable for the duty that is forced upon him by the cloak; he is a slave, as I was once a slave."

The words stung Rayce deeply, but he felt oddly grateful. He recognized his defender from Gwyn's memories, and he knew enough pieces of Mark Blackthorn's sad story to understand what answering the horn's call must have cost him tonight. Regret flooded through him for unknowingly drawing the Unbound in, but it was a choice the other man must have made when the call had led him so close to home.

"Leave him," Mark repeated softly as he reached Diego, his earlier hatred drained from his eyes to be replaced with sorrow as he witnessed Rayce's suffering.

The Executor held his ground for another moment before standing down and waving his Centurions back to the south and the trucks that waited there. "This time, Blackthorn," he muttered under his breath.

Mark watched them go, and then knelt silently at Rayce's side as he caught his breath. The Hunters had likely reached the fallen heroes, and the Forest was mollified to know that it would not be denied again.

Not knowing what else to do, the other Nephilim hung back and gave the two half-Faeries some space. Even Jace held back, staying close to Alec, Magnus, and the kids. Izzy reached out silently and took her husband's hand.

"You are not as alone as you might think, brother," Mark said quietly to Rayce.

"Uncle," Simon corrected under his breath, but the the two Hunters couldn't hear him. Izzy ground her heel into his toes and his mouth fell open in a silent scream.

Mark reached into the pocket of his jeans and withdrew a very worn witchlight. Jace's lips parted in shock. _There's no way._

"Take this with you," Mark echoed his friend's words from all those ago when his own journey with the Hunt had just been starting, "for it can be dark in the land under the hill, and the years very long." His voice dropped to a whisper as he pressed the stone into Rayce's hand.

"Remember that you are not forgotten."


	16. Chapter 16

**16**

Sera's eyes narrowed at Zeke. " _What_ plan?"

The Stripped Shadowhunter held up his hands to absolve himself of all responsibility. "I'm not saying anything. Let Cassius explain; this is his brand of crazy, not mine." He sipped from what was left of his spiked tea and then folded his arms, refusing to explain further.

As if saying his name had summoned him from the back room of the book shop, Cassius reappeared with a stack of three progressively thicker tomes. Each book was hand-bound in leather and was roughly two feet square, a strange size that was more reminiscent of a photo album to Sera's curious eyes. She watched as it he set them down carefully on the table and then she waited expectantly to hear The Plan.

The Faerie's dark leather wing rippled slightly as he adjusted it so that he could lean back against the table comfortably. "How much do you know of Fey heritage, lovely Sera?"

Sera blinked in confusion. "What? Just Sera," she corrected reflexively. "And I don't know... not much? Demons and angels..." Her right hand made a suggestive gesture and Zeke snorted into his mug, his shoulders shaking.

Smiling broadly, Cassius nodded appreciatively but did not apologize again for his slip-up. "You are partially correct, and any gap in your understanding of my kind is to be forgiven. Of all the supernatural creatures with whom they share this world, the Nephilim know the least about the Fey, though they work hard to conceal their ignorance by borrowing from myths and legends."

"I thought all the stories were true," Sera challenged him.

"And the truth is a fluid thing in the mouths of Faerie-kind," he finished for her. "Please allow me to expand upon your knowledge of my people."

Sera looked at him doubtfully. "And this is all necessary to explain The Plan?"

With the faintest of sighs, Cassius turned his grey eyes down to the slimmest of the three books that he had brought back with him. "Mortals. It is easy to forget the impatience that drives your kind, so I will make an effort to be as brief as possible. I do, however, believe that it is important for you to understand this. After all, it is also Rayce's heritage."

If Sera could be completely honest with herself, she was more than a little intrigued to hear what Cassius had to say, even if she didn't understand what it had to do with The Plan. She was still recovering from the double-whammy of the fight with the Hellhounds and applying Hunter's Fortitude rune, so maybe a bit of break wasn't such a bad idea.

"Alright, let's hear it," she said, picking up her own mug again and casting an unconscious glance over her shoulder at the heavy curtains that shut out the Rift. Knowing that the magic was unstable made her edgy, but so did knowing what kind of dark creatures were living out there. She didn't think she would ever forget seeing the cages of live virgins for sale on the boulevard.

Cassius bowed his head graciously and spread his hands. "Let us begin with a question that is often overlooked. What is the difference between the Seelie and the Unseelie?"

Sera opened her mouth, but no words came out. Her brain stalled, and she tried to jog her _mnemosyne_ rune into helping her out, but she drew a blank. _How have I never thought about this?_ "Um... well... the Unseelie are... evil. And... the Seelie are... less evil?" Her voice turned up questioningly, and she felt stupid even as she said it.

Cassius laughed out loud, a clear, ringing sound that sweetened the air around her. She couldn't decide whether it was calming because of its tone or annoying because of its context.

"A good understanding, for a Mortal," he chuckled. "It is true that the greatest among us descend directly from the union of angels and demons. The children of these trysts are what we call 'Greater Fey'. The dominance in their blood determines the alliance of a Greater Fey; those who are more strongly angelic join the Seelie Court, while those who are governed more heavily by their demonic half swell the ranks of the Unseelie. Their children follow after them within that alliance thereafter."

Sera lifted an eyebrow at the Faerie. "Sorry, so the Seelie are supposed to be the _good_ Faeries? Because they kind of suck at that, to be honest."

Her host adopted a feigned look of hurt and pressed a hand to his chest in mock distress. "But Sera, _I'm_ Seelie. Am I not a good Faerie?"

It felt like a loaded question, and Sera wasn't entirely convinced she knew the answer. _I mean... he_ seems _pretty nice... and helpful... but isn't that the whole problem with Faeries?_

Cassius let her off the hook for answering by smiling to dispel the hurt on his face. "Our blood is that of Heaven and Hell mixed together, and all the world's creatures have the capacity for good or evil. From there, it is our choices that define us. Are we born evil, Sera? Are we born good? Or are we simply born, and then shaped by our experiences? Good men can do evil things, and evil men can do good things; the same is true of Faeries."

He flipped open the thinnest of the volumes under his hand and turned to one of the first pages. Written across the top in a bold, flowing script was the name _Luchaereon_. There were at least fifty smaller names written below in the same hand, all with tiny reference numbers inscribed after them that had no rhyme or reason that she could discern. Sera's eyes naturally went to the first name, and she felt her heart lurch when she read it. _Gwyn ap Nudd._ Cassius gently touched the name.

"Here is the name of an Unseelie who sacrificed everything for his people, Sera. He was a good man who made a hard choice. And look who his father was." Her golden eyes drifted upward once more to the true name of the Unseelie King, and then she gasped when she deciphered the script below.

" _Son of Lucifer..._ What? _The_ Lucifer?" She stared up at Cassius skeptically.

"The same," he confirmed. "Many of the Greater Fey derive part of their name from that of one of their parents; it was a common practice."

Sera was stunned. It seemed obscene to be so casually discussing the _literal son of Satan._ The Faerie trailed his finger down the page to encompass the other names listed after Gwyn.

"The Unseelie King was obsessed with breeding more strength into his bloodline; it resulted in a rather impressive number of talented children. However, in trying to create powerful offspring, he erred by forgetting that they may one day seek to usurp his throne." Sera unconsciously followed the slim, tanned finger as it ran down, and her heart jumped again when she saw _Kieran_ at the very bottom of the list. _That bastard. Why am I not surprised?_

"The children of the Greater Fey became widely-known as the Fey gentry, ostensibily the upper-class in Faerie society. Most are considered beautiful by any standard, and many lack the more unsightly demonic marks of their parents." Cassius reached his right hand across to touch his remaining left wing in acknowledegment. "The gentry delight in playing with Mortals even more so than their parents, who had been fairly content over the years with being worshipped as gods by ancient Mundane civilizations." His voice was mesmerizing, and Sera didn't want him to stop. "From the gentry spring the Lesser Fey, and then the blood becomes too thin to care for the generations that follow, and we simply call them 'Faeries' as a general appellation."

Pausing thoughtfully for a moment, Cassius lifted a finger. "Some of the Nephilim confusion about the origins of Faeries arises from the simple fact that we are _not_ all born from the joining of angels and demons, or their subsequent progeny. Many types of Fey spring from the natural world and are products of their environment, such as nixies, dryads, satyrs, and too many more to list. The magic of our world is complex and ever-changing; so, too, are its natural children."

Sera did a quick check in her mind. "So, Rayce is... gentry?"

"Yes," Cassius said, tilting his head and flipping forward a few pages. "and no." The new page was written in the same script as before, and bore the header _Sammaradriel_. There were not as many names as there had been on the Unseelie King's page, but Sera still felt a faint twinge of awe that the Seelie Queen had had so many children. Her eyes flashed down the list, catching sight of _Baelerithon, Arynessa, Nerissa, Kylea,_ and _Alvariléa_ among the others before she skipped down impatiently to the bottom and found _Rayce Morgenstern_.

Seeing his name dropped a stone into her stomach. This tiny piece of him felt so _real_ , and yet at the same time, it felt so strange to see her prince listed here among his brothers and sisters. He was nothing like them, set apart even just by having a family name. Again, there were tiny numbers written next to each child's name, and she wondered at them. "Who wrote all of this, Cassius?"

With half a smile, the Faerie took his hand away from the page and answered simply, "I did."

Sera gaped. "You... keep track of who's banging who in the Courts as... some kind of hobby? No offense, but that's kind of creepy."

"None taken, beautiful Sera. What you find _creepy_ , I find... fascinating." His eyes gleamed in the low light from the lamps and Sera looked down at Rayce's name again, the number next to it, and then the remaining two volumes, getting suspicious.

She poked a finger at him in warning. "Well, you just keep your nose out of Rayce's bedroom. I'll send you a nice card if there are any more Morgensterns on the way."

Cassius laughed mischievously and his eye lashes swept down. "I'm sure you will," he murmured. "But he is quite unique, in so many ways." The Faerie lifted out the medium-sized book and laid it open, flipping through carefully until he reached a page that was divided top from bottom with a line. Each half of the page had its own name, and Sera had far less to read here than she had in the book of Greater Fey. _Nerissa_ dominated the top of the page, and was followed by only two names in smaller writing, _Helen Blackthorn_ and _Mark Blackthorn_. Both had identical numbers after their names, and Sera had a sneaking suspicion that they represented a page number that would correlate to the third volume if she cared to check. _Creepy... but organized_ , Sera admitted grudgingly. The bottom of the page held the name _Arynessa_ , and Sera was surprised and somewhat saddened to see that it was blank.

The one-winged Faerie spared her the trouble of wondering further by flipping open the third book to the page that Helen and Mark shared. Both halves were blank, and he tapped them thoughtfully. "I confess that I was intrigued to see this line continue, though it stemmed from the gentry into the Lesser ranks." He sighed with faint disappointment, as if denied a treat. "But the boy was tainted by the Hunt, and cannot sire children while half his soul remains tied to the next world, and the girl bore no young in her exile."

"Are you _spying_ on them?" Sera asked, aghast. She jabbed at him again with her hand. "Creep level: Maximum. They're _people_ , Cassius, not..." she searched for the right words, "not... _horses_."

He ducked his head quickly. "Forgive me, Sera, I should have shown more delicacy. But I must say that, should you free Rayce from the Hunt, I am very eager to see what will become of the Morgenstern line, now more than ever because of _you._ "

Sera shook her head. "Wow. Just wow. Please tell me that you're _really_ close to explaining what all of this has to do with The Plan, and that you're not going to keep fanboying about... _breeding_ Rayce and I." She shuddered inwardly at the clinical way the Faerie could regard the lives of others, and she wondered if she needed to work out what her answer actually would have been to his earlier question, ' _Am I not a good Faerie?'._

"Of course." Cassius' voice shifted away from the cool, lecturing lilt he had used to give her an overview of Fey heritage, and it warmed with a hint of excitement. "I do believe that Mortals have a common saying, 'Know thy enemy', is that correct?"

"Sure, give or take a few centuries," Sera answered breezily. Zeke, nearly forgotten during Cassius' explanation, grinned again in approval.

"Then know this: By using the Earth's magic to betray the Nephilim, Luchareon has overreached himself." The Faerie's eyes glittered with wickedness. "He weakened not only himself, but _all_ of the Unseelie. Your Rayce is unknowingly holding the door open for you to exploit that to your advantage."

She shook her head in confusion. "Come again?"

Cassius smiled obligingly. "As I said earlier, the Unseelie are more predisposed toward their demonic heritage. Demons live to consume worlds, to use them up until they are hollowed-out shells. The primary difference between the two branches of the Fey is that the Unseelie must, to some extent, feed upon this world's energy to survive. The founding of the Hunt to nurture the Eternal Forest and speed the production of ley energy was a genius stroke that allowed the Unseelie to come more strongly into this world than ever before, safe from the looming threat of what they call 'Fading'."

Before Sera could ask, Cassius nodded to himself, his energy sparking contagiously until she could feel her pulse beginning to race to keep up with him. "Without the world's magic to feed them, an Unseelie will Fade progressively until they are little more than a wraith, and then vanish completely from this world. I hesitate to use the word _die_ , but you may understand it that way if you choose."

Memories of Veralysia spun through Sera's mind and she shivered in revulsion, remembering the faint trailers of ley magic that had curled and caressed the spectre's throne deep within the Grand Canyon. Just enough to keep her from Fading entirely.

He continued animatedly, "The evidence is clear from what is happening to the Rift – Rayce is holding out against feeding the Forest and replenshing the King's strength. The Unseelie cannot recover until the Heart of the World does." Again, Sera's mind flickered painfully across the whipping she had been forced to watch Rayce endure, and comprehension dawned on her.

"So the time to strike..." Cassius paused dramatically, "is now."

"Strike..." Sera echoed uncertainly.

"The Hunt was conceived by Luchareon, and later, the cloak that bound his son in service. Whatever answers there are to find lie with him. The cloak carries the power of compulsion, the ability to force those enslaved to the Hunt to obey its master." He tapped his lips earnestly. "I suspect that it is demonically aligned, but even Luchareon would not have been able to anchor its power alone. It binds those who are split between the worlds. He could tether its power in this world, but not in the next." He turned his grey eyes on Sera triumphantly. "I think he called upon his father for help."

"Okay," Sera threw up her hands. "That's right where I have to draw the line."

Zeke raised his mug to her in mock-salute. "You got a lot further than I did, girl."

She shot him a withering glance before turning back to the obviously insane Faerie who was waiting with his breath held like an excited child. "You want us to just waltz into the Unseelie Court and what - torture the information out of the King because he can't really fight back right now? Just casually go toe-to-toe with the _son_ of _Lucifer_?"

Cassius drew himself up to his full height, and his wing partially curled around his body indignantly. "And what of _my_ father, Sera? Or do you see my missing wing and mistake it for weakness?"

Sera's heart sank as she asked weakly, "Oh, Raziel... do I even _want_ to ask who your father is?" She blinked, reflecting on what she had just learned about Seelie heritage. "If you say it's Raziel, I'm leaving."

"Have you forgotten my lesson so quickly?" Cassius looked down at her regally, and she could feel his presence expanding to fill the front room of the book shop. Awe blossomed in her chest as the power of a Greater Faerie flooded the small space. "I am a son of one of the seven Archangels of Heaven, the only living scion of the Angel of Solitude and Tears. My name was gifted to me by my father, Cassiel, and I fear no living creature in this world, mortal or immortal."

"You're..." she struggled to catch her breath before beginning again. "You don't really come across as... Greater Fey..."

The aura around Cassius faded and he grinned sardonically. "Not all of us crave crowns and thrones, sweet Sera."

Practicality took charge in Sera's mind as she re-evaluated The Plan with her newfound knowledge. There was a gaping hole that needed to be addressed before she could even begin to consider doing what the Faerie was asking. "The Unseelie King is immortal, right?"

Cassius nodded once, and Sera sighed. "So how can you force him to tell you anything? He can just keep on living indefinitely, and you can't kill him if we really do need what he knows. There just isn't enough _time,_ " she finished desperately.

Zeke shot a meaningful glance at his partner over the rim of the nearly-empty mug, but continued to remain silent. Cassius turned his grey eyes back to Sera and stepped closer, lifting a strong but gentle hand to cup her cheek softly.

"It was never my intention for _me_ to be the one to extract the truth from Luchareon," he said quietly, regarding her with an intensity that she found almost uncomfortable. "Yours is the weapon against which he cannot stand, and time will no longer be on his side once you bring it to bear."

Sera stirred awake under the dark, silky sheets of Cassius' bed as Zeke came up the stairs to the loft. She wasn't sure how long her nap had lasted, but she felt surprisingly refreshed and alert. She wondered suspiciously if Cassius had anything to do with it.

The Faerie and the Stripped Shadowhunter had been quite adamant about her getting some sleep while they made the final preparations for their assault on the Unseelie Court, even though she doubted that she would even be _able_ to sleep after Cassius had finished outlining her role. It was terrifying, and the ease with which the strange Faerie spoke of such a forbidden act made her silently question him again.

"It's go time, girl," Zeke said when he saw that she was awake, and he laid a bundle down at the foot of the bed for her. He disappeared back downstairs to give her some privacy.

As much as she had grudgingly appreciated the fresh clothes from Arynessa, it had seemed distinctly impractical not to get some real protection for the raid. Zeke had volunteered to go to the shop that sold Shadowhunter spoils that Sera had seen on her first visit to the Rift. He was on relatively-friendly terms with the owner, as he had provided a steady business through the years provisioning for Rayce's education.

 _Rayce._ Sera couldn't stop thinking about him. Her dreams had been absent during her nap, affected by being in the Rift, and she felt a twinge of anxiety about the blindness. A coldness spread through her as she remembered seeing him punished by the Unseelie King's order, and it hardened her resolve to carry through with The Plan. _He'll pay for it_ , she swore.

Unceremoniously stripping off the borrowed clothes, Sera brushed her hands down her arms and legs, trailing runes for the fight to come. She could feel the power pulsing into each Mark as it was laid, and she felt the heady rush that came with the language of Heaven upon her flesh. She felt _alive._

She squeezed herself into the gear, wincing in a set that was probably a size or two too small. Forcing the zipper up on the jacket stubbornly, a wave of giddy nervousness took hold of her. _It's going to be very embarrassing if this zipper pops at the wrong time._ But any gear was better than no gear, and she resolved to think skinny thoughts as often as possible. _And to breathe shallowly._

Mercifully, the boots were a good fit, and she left the heap of discarded white clothes in the corner. _Back in black, baby._

Sera clomped down the stairs and found Zeke shrugging into his own jacket with a mix of emotions on his face. His shattered Marks gave Sera chills, and she wondered at the cruelty of the Clave's sentence.

She shook away the sense of foreboding that came with seeing the evidence of Shadowhunter justice, and tried to mask her fear with a smile as she poked a finger through one of the several gashes in the gear she was wearing.

"Should I be worried about these?" she asked Zeke teasingly.

He turned his head and lifted a dark eyebrow. "Maybe you should just take those as guidelines for where to guard against Faerie strikes. They love to see you bleed before they go in for the kill," he said darkly.

"Good to know," Sera replied. She had kind of been hoping for a lighter response, but the gravity of what they were doing had apparently managed to sober her host as well. "Is it too late to say the gear is a bit tight?"

Grinning faintly, Zeke nodded. "It looks good, though," he said thoughtfully.

She narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously as she slung her crossbow strap over her shoulder. "Did you do that on purpose?"

He rolled his eyes in response, coming around from the distraction of wherever his memories of wearing gear into battle had taken him. "There's a very limited selection of complete sets of gear. Do you want to wait until the Fey kill someone in your size?" He waved his hand. "Just try to pretend that this is the part of the season where the only thing left on the rack is XXS, okay, princess?"

Scowling, Sera started buckling on her half-full brace of knives only to discover that the empty slots had been filled with a different sort of blade. "I'm not a princess," she muttered under her breath sullenly.

Zeke saw her eyeing the new additions to her arsenal and he reached over to touch the hilts of the throwing knives. "Cold iron," he said quietly. "Try to keep your distance from Cassius; he's on our side."

She looked around for any sign of the Faerie and didn't see him anywhere, but she dropped her voice just in case. "Are you sure?"

"Very," he answered before changing the subject. "Have you... _seen_ Rayce recently? In your dreams?" He couldn't completely disguise the concern in his eyes, and Sera had to remind herself that he had practically raised Rayce. She hesitated to tell him about the whipping. On one hand, it might fuel the fire to succeed today, but on the other hand, it might make him reckless.

"My dreams don't work down here," she said gently, deciding to spare him the pain. It wasn't a lie, not precisely, but she felt uncomfortable with how easy it was to shade the truth. _Stay down here long enough and you'll end up lying like a Faerie._

He nodded disappointedly, but accepted her answer. "I believe in you, girl. I know he dreamed about you the night before all of this even started – he's always been out there waiting for you, even if he didn't know it."

Sera's brow furrowed in confusion. Rayce _dreamed about_ me? _How is that even possible?_

Her train of thought was cut off as the front door of the book shop pushed open and Cassius slipped through. He was wearing comfortably-worn black leather pants that rose just past his hip bones, but he had apparently still neglected to find a shirt. His feet were bare as well, but Sera's eyes immediately snapped to the twin lengths of what looked like serrated whips coiled on either side of his waist.

Cassius caught her staring at the unfamiliar weapons and he reached down to brush the hilts with hands that were now gloved in a strange combination of leather and something that shimmered faintly in the low light of the store. "Do you admire my _torahk-na,_ beautiful Sera?"

She blinked once, her eyes still tracing the loops of what looked like razor-sharp, supple metal. "They look dangerous," she responded faintly.

He only laughed in response and winked at her, the excitement of the hunt already thrilling through his veins. "Let us hope that they are." He locked the door behind him. "Ready yourself for battle, Lady Shadowhunter."

Zeke did one last check of his weapons and then joined Sera beside the tabletop strewn with books. Cassius stepped close and gathered the two Shadowhunters into his arms before folding his remaining wing around them.

Sera squeezed her eyes shut as the bookshop around them vanished, so she missed seeing the flash of the ley line terminus as they briefly touched down on the platform, allowing the Faerie to take a small step and whisk them into the veins of the world to hurtle toward the Unseelie Court. If they were fortunate, no one would have seen them for the barest instant that they had needed to be there to make the connection.

Under the protection of a Greater Faerie, Sera and Zeke were safe from the burning _geas_ that lay upon the lines, and they emerged moments later into a small, unfamiliar cavern dotted with the cool blue Faerie lights that the Fey seemed to favour. Cassius' arm dropped from around her waist immediately, and then she felt a _whoosh_ of air as his wing whistled past her head when he spun with inhuman speed to whip one of the _torahk-na_ out in a dazzling blur.

The serrated edge slashed across the throat of a dark figure just off the edge of the platform, cutting off any cry for help before Sera could even process the movement. The Unseelie dropped to the stone floor of the cavern in a crumpled heap even as Cassius completed his spin, his left-hand _torahk-na_ taking a second enemy down in identical, brutal fashion in a moment.

Even Zeke hadn't caught up to the sudden assault yet, disoriented from their quick journey from the Rift to the Unseelie Court. He had only just drawn a short sword when Cassius turned back to face them, the bloodied ends of his deadly weapons trailing across the rock.

"Clear," the Faerie breathed quietly. He flicked his wrists in unison and the _torahk-na_ spun back into his waiting hands, where he caught the loops with the strange gloves Sera had seen and hooked the coils back at his sides innocently once more.

Sera watched as if she were trapped in someone else's body while Cassius briefly crouched next to each of the fallen in the faintly-glowing light of the ley line terminus, sweeping his wing down and vanishing for a moment to hide the bodies. She could hear the echo of Zeke's voice in her mind, _He's more dangerous than he looks._ Part of her felt sick. _This isn't battle..._

Zeke could see the look in her eyes, and he reached out a comforting hand to grasp her shoulder for a moment. "You knew the cost, girl," he said gently.

Her golden eyes flashed back at him. "That doesn't mean I have to enjoy seeing it."

The older Shadowhunter nodded in silent agreement as Cassius returned to them. The Faerie looked cool and unaffected by the killing. "I do not know precisely how close I can get us to the King before the Court wards stop me, but we will try."

He pulled them close again and they teleported deeper into the realm of the Unseelie, reappearing in a deserted stretch of tunnel. Cassius' brow furrowed in consternation, and Sera felt a shiver of power roll off the Faerie as he tried to take them further, only to be repelled by the ancient magic that protected the Unseelie Court.

"We're close," he whispered, moving forward silently on bare feet to take the lead. Sera followed after him, her Soundless rune working to match his stealth, and Zeke brought up the rear with nothing more than a lifetime of training to pass quietly.

Black stone walls stretched away with low-burning wisps of blue Faerie-light flickering eerily. The air was cold and heavy around Sera as she glided along behind Cassius, and she flexed her hands nervously. _Can I really do this?_

The trio advanced farther into the Unseelie Court without challenge. Between the disastrous war with the Seelie and the sudden drop in power from the earth's magic, it was clear that many of the Unseelie had chosen to go to ground and wait to see how the tumultuous times would settle.

Cassius stopped just outside a doorway that seemed unremarkable from any of the others they had passed, and he gave the Shadowhunters a significant look. Zeke slipped a pair of iron fetters out from the back of his weapons belt and nodded his readiness. Sera took a deep breath and bobbed her head once. _Whatever it takes_.

The Faerie flowed through the doorway with a liquid grace that was almost too quick to see, and the twin _torahk-na_ snapped out in deadly arcs that brought them slashing down with surgical precision to carve shallow slashes along the Unseelie King's arms where he was reclining in the broken font of ley magic that he had harnessed for the final blow against Alicante. Zeke surged past Sera in a burst of speed as he launched himself at the King, armoured in his faith that Cassius would be able to disrupt any spell that might be cast in retaliation.

Stunned only for the barest of moments by the stinging pain from the _torahk-na_ , the Unseelie King snarled at the unexpected invasion and tried to bring his magic to bear. But the first syllable had barely hissed from his lips when Zeke slammed into him and Cassius began speaking in a low voice, the language harsh and cutting to Sera's ears. She had no idea what the Faerie was saying, but the stream of words was laced with whisperings of _Luchareon_ , and she didn't doubt for a moment that Cassius was invoking the King's true name to lend additional power to his counterspell.

The King's casting shifted to a shriek as Zeke clapped the cold iron manacles around the Faerie's wrists and pulled them together behind the ancient monarch. The Shadowhunter jammed his knee into the King's back and held on tightly as the Unseelie writhed from the burning in his wrists and the rage at being foiled by Cassius. Magically and physically overpowered by the duo, the King of the Unseelie Court found himself at the mercy of the invaders. He abandoned all attempts at spellcasting and simply shouted for aid. No one appeared in the doorway, and Cassius' lips turned up at the corners into a feral smile.

"This room is warded against eavesdropping - no one will hear you scream."

The King's pure black eyes narrowed dangerously and he locked his gaze on Cassius, beginning a silent contest of wills as he fought for mastery over his opponent. Zeke shook the King, drawing fresh hisses of pain with the iron, but failed to break the Unseelie's concentration.

Cassius swept his hand out, palm up, slashing downward as if cutting an invisible ribbon, and the King's head drooped downward as his final desperate attempt failed. The one-winged Faerie moved in closer and he dared to lift the other's chin with one gloved hand. "Too weak, Luchareon!" Cassius laughed darkly. "You will not best me today. If you wish to save yourself now, you will need to answer to her," he said menacingly, bowing his head to acknowledge Sera.

The young Shadowhunter stepped away from where she had waited in the doorway to avoid presenting another target for the King to attack, and she felt his ancient stare drill into her with the weight of centuries behind it. Dread flared to life in her stomach and began to spread through her like poison until she felt a warmth from Cassius as the Seelie protected and shielded her from whatever power the King could still command.

"Now, Sera. I have him," the Faerie assured her confidently, hands resting easily on the hilts of the _torahk-na_ at his waist while he looked down at the bound King.

Sera was shaking a little as she gathered her courage to approach the King of the Unseelie Court. She had expected him to be more… imposing… but now that he had been temporarily brought low by the combined efforts of Zeke and Cassius, she found herself moving forward as if in a dream.

Thinking of dreams brought back memories of Rayce hanging bound and bleeding in this very room, of Veralysia's crushing sadness after pleading for Gwyn's freedom and being denied. She remembered the smell of smoke and ashes on Seraphine's clothing when the warlock had returned to her condo after braving the fires of Alicante and it gave her the courage to do what she had to do.

She stopped just short of the kneeling King and laid her right hand lightly across his throat, her fingers tightening by just a fraction. She could feel his pulse throbbing just under her index finger, and she was surprised to register that it was racing. He could mask the fear from appearing on his face, but his heart was betraying him. She wondered how long it had been since he had found himself powerless. _Centuries? Ever?_

"I don't have a lot of time," she said quietly, boldly meeting his black eyes, "but neither will you if you don't give me straight answers."

The King sneered up at her and jerked his head in Cassius' direction. "He does not have the power to compel me to answer any questions of yours, Nephilim whelp."

"He's not the one you need to worry about," Sera answered in a low, hard voice, her conviction finally taking over and banishing her fear.

She lifted her left hand and pushed up the right sleeve of her jacket to bare her forearm right in front of the King's eyes. A Courage rune blazed under her left palm and spread like swirling ink under water to take shape on her exposed skin.

The King's mouth sagged open in disbelief as he saw the Mark flow from her touch without a stele, and his eyes flicked down to where her right hand still rested innoculously on his neck.

Sera crouched down slowly without releasing her grip to bring her face level with his, cocking her head to the left slightly as she asked, "Have you ever seen a Faerie made over into one of the Forsaken?"

The Unseelie King fell absolutely still, and Sera prayed desperately that Cassius' had been right about this. Zeke nodded to her encouragingly over their captive's shoulder, still keeping the King firmly braced and in hand.

Time was ticking away, however strangely it ticked in this place, and Sera was wary of the fact that anyone could walk in at any time. Cassius would be able to deal with any surprise visitors, but she would seriously prefer that he kept all of his attention focused on maintaining his hold over the King. She needed to get answers quickly, so she started with the simplest question. "Can you free Rayce from the Hunt?"

The ancient Faerie's mouth twisted into a sneer. "Such a pity, that you would die to ask such a worthless question-" A scream ripped out of the King's throat as an Agony rune burned into his neck under Sera's hand, and he bucked backwards into Zeke as she held her grip. She pulled him back, curling her left hand around the back of his neck.

"Straight answers, remember?" Sera dropped her hand lower to press it over his sternum where his dark robes were folded shut. "Can you free Rayce from the Hunt?" The Agony rune was smoking faintly, and the edges of the Mark veined outwards ominously in a dark green network of lines that marred its curving beauty.

The King gritted his teeth against the pain and snarled at her, "You are wasting your time, girl. He's lost to you."

Anger boiled over inside Sera. _He's not lost!_ A red Mourning rune flared sharply across the Faerie's chest and his shrieks rang off the stone ceiling for nearly a minute as he lost himself in the pain. Zeke held on grimly as the King shook and jerked his head back and forth, and the Stripped Shadowhunter was forcibly reminded of the touch of black _adamas_ from decades ago.

"Answer me!" Sera screamed at the King with all the frustration that had built up since losing Rayce to the Hunt. Every dead-end, every trail gone cold, every pity-filled look from the people she had encountered along the way finally made her snap inside, and she slammed both of her hands into the King's chest, searing identical Angelic Power runes into his flesh. Her natural strength was augmented by the Marks she had laid before leaving the Rift, and the Faerie was thrown from Zeke's grasp to crash into the far wall just below a map of Alicante.

She dove after him, skidding to her knees in front of his dazed body as he slumped sideways, insensate, against the stone.

"Sera!" Cassius called in warning, but she had already lifted the King's face, cupping it in her palms threateningly, ready to make him _hurt_ the way she was hurting inside.

The Unseelie's eyes rolled back into his head, and his entire body began to convulse uncontrollably. Four powerful runes stood out like ugly brands against his pale white skin. The colour of the Marks was bleeding out, spreading farther along the matrix of sickly lines as his body rejected the runes. Alarmed, Sera pulled her hands away when he fell heavily to the floor and continued to shake violently.

" _At Hell's maw and Heaven's gate_ ," the King moaned through the fit, " _Gamble all to undo fate._ "

Sera pushed herself away from the Faerie hurriedly, scrambling backwards to put some distance between them. His now-white eyes were no longer focused in this world, but somewhere much darker. He rolled onto his side, wrists still locked behind him, and fixed his sightless gaze on Sera.

" _Trade away one final breath_ ," he gasped, " _close bitter eyes and embrace death._ " Bloody froth bubbled up between his lips and he choked, spattering the dark stone as he coughed once. Sera was horrified by what she had done to him.

" _Chain death to life and heart to soul._ " His back arched and a keening wail escaped his lips as he curled up in agony, eyes clenched shut. The King's voice swelled to a piercing howl as he finished, " _Entwined as one to be made whole!_ "

He collapsed as shock overwhelmed his system and the runes reacted violently with the demonic side of his heritage. His mouth gaped open in silent horror as he began to Turn, the curse of the Forsaken creeping across his features with deadly promise.

Sera felt Zeke's arms under her own and then she was being dragged out of the way. He twisted to the left and pushed her down, averting her eyes away from what was happening to the King, and she didn't have to wait long to find out why.

Cassius whipped out one of the _torahk-na_ toward the Forsaken Faerie Lord to put an end to him. Sera heard, rather than saw, the swift strike that killed the Unseelie King, and she breathed an inward sigh of relief as the Faerie went still. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest until she felt the adrenaline fade away, and then she started shaking in the protection of Zeke's arms. _Raziel, what have I done?_ Tears came unbidden and regret washed through her.

Zeke lifted himself carefully off her and gave her some space to regather her composure, but it just wouldn't come. She sniffed and found herself stupidly wishing for a tissueuntil she thought about trying to stuff anything else into the too-tight gear. A single laugh escaped her, and after that she couldn't tell if she was laughing or crying.

It was Cassius who knelt down at her side and wrapped his arms around her tenderly, stripping off his gloves to stroke her hair patiently as she laugh-cried it out on his shoulder. All the stress and tension of the previous days poured out of her to make room for the incoming guilt, but the Faerie lifted her chin gently before it could get a good hold on her, as if he could sense her shame.

"Do not take any of the blame for what was done here, lovely Sera," he said soothingly. "Let this death rest on my shoulders; if you must speak of today, let it be said that I was solely responsible for the suffering and ultimate demise of the Unseelie King." His warm, grey eyes were kind when he brushed away a tear as it rolled down her cheek. "This should not be your burden to bear."

She could feel him siphoning away her misery, replacing it with his quiet strength instead, and she clung to him for one more long moment before pulling back and wiping her nose with the back of her hand self-consciously.

"I think I'm going to be okay," she said gratefully, rising to her feet with a helping hand from Zeke.

"Then we must hasten away," Cassius advised, casting a backward glance over his shoulder at the doorway. "We will find no more answers here."

Zeke scooped up the fallen King without a word, the body seemingly smaller in death, and Cassius made the blood on the stone floor vanish as Sera watched. The Faerie had insisted that they try to keep the King's death a mystery for as long as possible, and he had already planned for the disposal of the evidence, promising darkly that it would be a fitting and ironic end to the Unseelie that would leave no trace to be found.

The trio and their grim load slipped away as soundlessly as they had come, Cassius in the lead with his gloves back in place and his hands never far from the handles of the _torahk-na_. Sera followed with a heart full of misgivings, no matter what the Faerie had said about accepting responsibility for what she had done. The King's strange words echoed in her mind, but she was too distracted to begin to try to make sense of them. A _heaviness_ had lain across the dark verse as the King had struggled against the transformation in his final moments, locked in a trance between states, but Sera allowed a tiny kernel of hope to take root inside her. _Faeries can't lie._

Governed by his own sense of the magic of the Unseelie Court, Cassius swerved into a side tunnel suddenly.

"We are beyond the wards, beautiful Sera, and now we must part ways. I will see to Ezekiel's safety, but then I must walk a much more difficult path to finish this. Luchaereon will never be found."

Sera nodded in understanding and shivered. She _wanted_ to trust the mercurial Faerie... but he was just so _different._ The way he saw the world was so far removed from her own perspective that she couldn't grasp it.

Shrugging regretfully with his arms full, Zeke sighed theatrically. "I'd give you a farewell hug, but... maybe next time?"

"You'll definitely owe me one," she agreed. She was going to miss the unusual pair, but she had a very strong feeling that this wouldn't be the last that she would see of them. Unconsciously, she reached for a flash of future-sight to confirm her hopes, but then remembered that she was still blinded by being within the Faerie realm.

"I will work to unravel Luchareon's final words," Cassius promised solemnly. "I will come to you if I find the meaning in them."

Casting aside her doubts for a moment, Sera threw her arms around the Faerie, the warmth of his bare chest comforting in the darkness of the Unseelie tunnels. "Thank you," she whispered fiercely.

"Go," he urged softly, and she broke away reluctantly.

Sera laid her palm against the black stone wall and called the image of her Las Vegas home to mind, opening a Portal to take her away from the Courts for what she fervently hoped would be the last time.

The cool air of the Faerie passages vanished behind her as the Portal closed, replaced by the Nevada heat, and she inhaled deeply at the familiarity. It felt like coming home at the end of a _very_ long day, and the first thing she did was yank down the zipper of her ill-fitting jacket with a relieved sigh. _Made it._

She dropped her crossbow on the bed and unbuckled the brace of mixed throwing knives, stripping away not only her weapons, but the stress of everything that had happened since she had left to find the field of Hellhounds.

Sera pulled a white tank top over her head as she left her bedroom and crossed into the kitchen, intent on finding her phone. She had been away too long, and it was time to find out what had been happening in her absence. _After that,_ she thought, _a nice, long, hot shower._ She smiled blissfully to herself.

Hitting the shortcut to call Seraphine's cell, she found herself sincerely hoping that Clary and Tessa had taken her advice to call the diminuitive warlock for help with the ritual site.

The ringing cut off and then the Shadowhunter heard a delighted shriek on the other end. "SERA!" Static crackled along the connection, but hearing Seraphine's voice sent a rush of happiness through her. She had missed her friend more than she had realized. "Where... - you _been?_ "

"I don't think you'd believe me if I told you," Sera replied, wondering how much of what she said would get through. "Where are you?"

White noise hissed in her ear for a moment, then, "-ngel Island. ... site is _amazing_ , these girls are-" A buzzing droned in her ear, and Sera held the phone out reflexively for a moment before bringing it back. "...the implications of-... unbelievable!"

Cursing the general incompatibility of technology and magic, she crossed her arms impatiently, drumming her fingers along the white-gold bangle idly. She could still remember Rayce bending it shut to fit her smaller arm after escaping from Alicante, and as always, remembering him shot a pang of emotion through her. _I'm coming, Rayce._

"Seraphine, I don't know if you can hear me, but I have to-" the connection dropped completely and Sera glared at the screen of her phone as it informed her that the call had ended. _Fine._

Her mind raced ahead, already planning what she should need to make another trip to Wrangel Island. Everything was swirling together in her head as she tried to keep Rayce separate from Seraphine, and she stubbornly shoved the two problems apart.

She cranked the shower on in the bathroom and let the water run. _A quick shower,_ she sighed internally, dreading the icy cold of the island. She caught sight of her reflection in the mirror and stared, wondering if everything she had been through would show on her face somehow.

A shrill ring from her landline phone sounded over the rush of water from the shower, breaking her concentration. _Seraphine!_ She darted out of the bathroom and prayed that the connection would be better.

As she rounded the corner, she caught the flash of a baton as it swung toward her with sickening force _._ Pain exploded through her head and she lost consciousness, dropping to the floor helplessly.

Everett Whitelock slowly knelt down next to her and reached out to gently brush a tangle of gold and platinum waves away from her face. His voice was barely a whisper as he breathed shallowly in triumph.

"Welcome home, Sera."


	17. Chapter 17

**17**

Nauseating pain and a splitting headache greeted Sera when she woke gradually from unconsciousness into her own personal hell. Her arms were brutally bound behind her, elbows drawn in toward each other with a length of rope that was suspended from the chains that ran up to the high ceiling above. Every breath was a struggle, and she tried to find better footing to relieve the stress on her shoulders, but she could only just reach the floor to stand on her toes. Short chains snaked around her ankles to a ring in the floor to keep her in place.

She felt a claustrophobic panic seize hold of her as she strained to find a position that would ease the pain, and her breathing quickened, increasing her terror as she fought to take a deep breath in the restrictive bonds. _Don't freak out_ , she berated herself. _Break out._

The cell was all too familiar as she tried to focus on taking in her surroundings to distract herself from her suffering. A pair of torches burned in brackets on the wall, illuminating the same prison she had shared with Rayce on her last visit to Alicante.

 _Idiot_ , she swore at Everett. _I already escaped from this place once._ Although her wrists were tightly bound, she was still more than capable of laying her hands flat to use _iratzes_ to take care of where she had been clubbed. _Then... vengeance._

Her head continued to pound and the searing pain in her shoulders didn't lessen as she waited expectantly. _What the hell?_ She put aside all of her more inventive murderous thoughts for Everett and focused on the healing rune as she pressed her palms down again. She didn't feel any of the usual heat that came from applying Marks. Her heart sped up as another wave of panic surged through her. _No, no, no!_

Eyes wide and frightened in the torchlight, she whipped her head from side to side and fought down the rising sense of helplessness. _This isn't happening. This isn't real._ At the very edge of her vision, she caught sight of something etched into the floor, but she couldn't make it out.

She pulled at her bindings and screamed as agony shot through her body, and she started to seriously worry about dislocating her shoulders if she didn't get free soon. She panted anxiously, no longer able to hold the panic at bay, and her chest heaved with effort. Sweat glued her hair to the back of her neck as she writhed, and she felt her body overheating as dread consumed her. _Trapped!_

The heavy cell door unlocked behind her and she heard it open and then close. Straining to put as much weight as possible on her toes instead of her shoulders, Sera held still and vowed not to let anyone see her suffer.

"Sera, Sera, Sera." Everett clucked his tongue as he walked around into her line of sight. "Look at what you've gotten yourself into now." He wore a crisp, clean set of black Shadowhunting gear, and the winged hilt of a sword rose up over his right shoulder.

Pure, unfiltered hatred filled her golden eyes as she looked up at him from under the sweaty tangle of hair matted across her forehead. "I swear to God, I don't remember crawling into these chains myself, you twisted son of a bitch."

A wide smile spread across his face and he threw back his head to laugh out loud. "You're exactly the way I imagined you would be!"

Sera grimaced as she shifted unsteadily, but forced it to look like a smile instead as she breathed shallowly. "Sorry, am I supposed to know who you are?"

Annoyance darkened her captor's eyes before he recovered himself and reached into the heavy vest he was wearing, slowly pulling free a very battered, and very familiar, notebook. "Forgive me, it's just that I feel I've come to know you so well through these pages that I forget that we have not yet been formally introduced." He paused teasingly, watching as her smile was wiped away when she recognized her dream diary in his hands. "Everett Whitelock, though I can't say that I'm at your service, as I had rather hoped to put you at mine."

Fear flashed through Sera and she felt as if she had been splashed with ice-cold water. _This is exactly what my mother was trying to protect me from!_ Her gift, harnessed and placed at the disposal of the Clave. Every sarcastic retort that came to mind died before it could pass through her lips, and for once in her life, Sera held her tongue, allowing him to continue.

"I'm afraid I must tell you that this cell has been specially treated to nullify seraphic rune magic – our Marks won't work here." When she remained silent he nodded, satisfied.

"Very good," Everett mockingly congratulated her. "This gives me hope that you _can_ be trained."

 _Trained. Like a dog._ Anger flared up inside her, melting the icy shock. "Whatever you think I'm going to do for you," she puffed laboriously, "you can just shove it up your ass." It was hard to sound threatening when every breath made her muscles scream, but she tried her best. "I won't tell you shit."

He seemed excited by her resistance, tracing his tongue along the inside of his bottom teeth as he continued to smile sickeningly at her. "Sera," he said gently, pushing a hank of limp hair out of her eyes. "I'm not really going to give you a _choice._ "

The false Consul drew back and flipped open her notebook, clearing his throat before he read, _"I dreamed about my father again tonight, but this time the way he was before my mother knew him..."_ Bitterness and shame burned through her as she listened to him read the dream about her father's true nature, but she couldn't do anything to stop him.

"... _And what bitter insight it was. Was this the vaunted love of Heaven? To cast down an angel who had suffered so terribly and for so long? What happened to divine forgiveness? It fills me with so much anger. What became of my father after his mortal death?"_

Everett snapped the diary closed and slipped the cover under her chin to raise her head, forcing her to look at him. "What do you think of the vaunted love of Heaven now, Sera? Do you believe there's anyone watching over you? Are you still _angry?_ "

"What's your _damage_? You're a _Shadowhunter_ , you're supposed to be one of the good guys."

"So are you, sweetheart," he replied sarcastically. "But I'm willing to bet that you have more blood on your hands than I do when it comes to getting what you want. Don't you _see?_ " He lifted her notebook and shook it in front of her face. "We're the _same._ You spent years of your life planning and mapping out how to get what you wanted. You didn't care how much it cost or who got in the way. Your own words, Sera – _Whatever it takes._ Now I'm doing the same thing."

Cramps were seizing up the muscles along her spine and her deltoids were on fire, but she shook her head and gritted her teeth. "I was trying to _save_ someone."

"But I'm trying to save _everyone,_ Sera." His eyes shone with intensity, and he began pacing back and forth in front of where she hung. "You are living, breathing proof that angels exist – but where _are_ they?" He stopped and jabbed the notebook at her. "Alicante has _burned_ to the _ground_ and still they forsake us!"

Manic energy filled Everett. "No one has given more in service to Heaven than the Nephilim, and in our hour of need, Heaven gives nothing back." He stared at her intently. "Don't try to pretend that you've never resented that our divine patrons have never once tried to help us – we all go through that phase."

Sera coughed and immediately regretted it as pain rocked through her. "Yeah, but the difference," she gasped, "is that the rest of us don't go bat-shit crazy about it."

He grabbed her chin roughly with his left hand and pulled her face closer, squeezing her cheeks painfully with his thumb and index finger. Reaching over his shoulder with his right hand, he grasped the winged hilt of the sword he wore strapped across his back, and Sera's eyes widened. _He's going to kill me._

"You're as much a Shadowhunter as I am, Sera, and I'll have the truth from you one way or another. Shall we test it?"

Maellartach's silver length flashed in the firelight as Everett spun the blade and pressed the _adamas_ hilt into her bound hands behind her back.

It felt as if a thousand tiny hooks immediately dug into her flesh and Sera's entire body stiffened in response, clashing horribly with the knotting cramps in her back, shoulders, and legs. She tried to drop the sword, but her hands refused to obey. It dangled impotently behind her, utterly useless as a weapon against Everett.

"Has your father ever reached out to you, Sera?" The Consul watched her breathlessly, thrilled with the power that he held over her now.

"Go fu-" Sera screamed as the invisible hooks jerked tight and cut off her profanity. Tears leaked from the corner of her eyes as she thrashed in her bonds, worsening the agony and threatening to dislocate her shoulders as she had feared earlier. Her breaths became ragged gasps, and the flat of the blade banged off her leg as she bucked.

"I'm waiting," Everett reminded her as she shook helplessly, still unable to answer. "Yes or no, have you spoken to Ithuriel?"

Sera sucked in a shuddering breath. "No." The pain did not return.

"Does it make you angry?" He was obsessed.

Every bit of her concentration was focused in forcing air in and out of her lungs, and she could only stare into the light of one of the torches on the wall. The flames blurred through her tears and she squeezed her eyes shut to try to block out everything.

Everett leaned in on her left side to whisper in her ear. "Do you feel _abandoned_ , Sera?"

She couldn't help it. She felt a small sob escape, and then another, until they just kept rolling out, shaking her tortured shoulders and sending new flares of agony rocketing through her nerves.

"Do you feel _alone?_ "

"Yes," she breathed, defeated. Hot streaks tracked down her cheeks for a lifetime of feeling unwanted. Ithuriel had known that he was going to be a father, and he had still _given up._ She hadn't been enough for him. And after... her diary had never provided answers. She still didn't know what had happened to him after his mortal death. Had he gone back to Heaven? Was he there now, watching her suffer in the hands of an enemy? Would he not even step in to save his own daughter?

"That wasn't so hard, now was it?" Everett asked cheerfully, prying Maellartach from her numb fingers and re-sheathing it. "I'm so glad that we've established that you _can_ tell the truth."

"What do you _want?"_

"I told you, Sera," he replied earnestly. "I want to save everyone." He held up the diary again to emphasize his point. "You can find solutions to impossible problems. You can look into the future to find answers, and now you're going to do it for me."

She started to shake her head, but he casually backhanded her, sending her screaming to the edge of what little slack there was. Her knees buckled for a moment, dropping her full weight onto her shoulders for half a second before she bolted upright again, unable to even make noise as she choked in pain.

"You spent years selfishly looking for him. Now you'll use your gift to look for our salvation, Sera. Because the demons are coming through the wards worse than ever, and we can't stop them forever." He cupped her face with one hand and stroked his thumb across her tear-stained cheek. "You can't really tell me that you'd rather die than help your fellow Shadowhunters, can you?"

"I can't-" she gasped before he pressed his thumb over her lips to silence her protest, cutting it down to the only part of it he wanted to hear.

Everett whistled sharply and then looked over her shoulder to where the door was opening again.

Sera heard the rattle of heavy chains and then saw a flurry of movement as a skinny body hurtled past her to land in a heap at Everett's feet. _Raziel, no._

"Steven..." she said weakly when the Consul dropped his hand to twist it into her friend's mousey brown hair and jerk him upright. The pale face she had once teased Steven about being so white that it quite possibly reflected sunlight was now covered in blotchy bruises and scabs where the skin had broken.

"You may call him Steven, but I, personally, like to call him _motivation,_ " Everett said lovingly, gently slapping Steven's cheek. The boy's milky white eyes were almost swollen shut from the beating he had taken, but he had never needed them to see her.

"Sera..." he gasped. "Don't tell him anything."

Everett effortlessly shoved the mostly-Mundane against the wall of the cell and locked a collar around his neck that ran on a short chain to a ring in the stone. "Please, Steven, a sense of self-preservation would be well-advised right about now. You, more than anyone, should be praying for her success."

The Consul stepped behind her and tapped the bangle bent shut around her upper arm. "Your friend told me that not even _she_ would be able to track you while you were wearing this, so I hope you aren't expecting any sort of rescue effort from that avenue. No one's coming for you now."

He moved out of Sera's line of sight again and she heard a release lever click just before the chain holding her suspended fell slack and she went crashing to her knees and then down to her side with a hollow feeling in her stomach.

"Sleep on it, Sera," Everett called over his shoulder as he left. "You have all day to try. I'll be back tonight to check on you." The door slammed shut and locked with a sense of finality.

The cell was filled with the sound of her laboured breathing and the occasional whimper as she fought against the crippling spasms ripping up and down her back and through her arms.

"Sera?" Steven asked tentatively, feeling around the collar with his chained hands and finding the thick padlock.

"I'm here," she groaned. With her elbows bound in addition to her wrists, she couldn't wiggle her arms back out in front of her. She lay uncomfortably on her side for a few moments before giving up and just rolling onto her belly. Her face pressed into the cold stone floor, and she felt the gritty filth and grime of the years clogging her pores. _Zits for sure when I get out of here,_ she lamented. _Blackheads of demonic proportions._

"Can I be really honest with you for a minute?" Her friend's voice was quiet, but a thread of courage wound through his words.

"I don't think I'm going anywhere any time soon," she replied with a grimace as her feet tangled in the short chain still attached to the floor and she kicked a few times to untangle the mess. "Have at it."

"The dreams that I had about you involving dungeons and chains and stuff never went like this."

Sera snorted into the floor and laughed. "God, I hope not, Steven." She tried flexing her hands to get some blood flowing to her numbed fingers with limited success, and she abandoned the thought of being able to twist free of the ropes. Apparently, Everett was shockingly good at this. From this vantage point, she had a better view of the complicated spell circle that had been cast to nullify runic magic. The markings were burned right into the stone floor, and reminded her uncomfortably of the ritual site on Wrangel Island.

"I'm scared, Sera," Steven said softly after a minute of silence.

She shifted on the floor, trying to find a more comfortable position without success. "I am, too, Steven." She sniffed, feeling tears welling up again in frustration at her situation. "I promise," she said, her voice cracking half-way through, "I'll go out on a real date with you when we get out of her, okay?"

Steven gave a weak snicker of approval. "Somewhere fancy," he demanded half-heartedly.

"So fancy," she agreed automatically as her tears trickled down to mix with the filth on the stone. "I'll wear a sexy dress and everyone will think you must be unbelievable in the sack to have bagged a girl like me."

"How do you know I'm _not_?" He challenged her.

"Spider-Man sheets. Dead giveaway. They scream _virgin._ "

Steven's voice grew more serious as he shifted the conversation away from the embarrassing oversight of letting her see those sheets on one of her visits. "You can't do what this guy wants, Sera. He's a total nut bag. Can't you just like," he wiggled his fingers, "do something cool to get out of here?"

She sighed. "Apparently, he's gotten rune magic nulled in this cell somehow. I'm as Mundane as you are right now."

"Nah," Steven objected confidently. "You'll always be something special, Sera. And if he wants you to use your dreams, then you've still got that, don't you?"

"Fat lot of good that's going to do us," Sera said sarcastically. "I'm so sorry I got you into this mess, Steven."

"Bullshit," he said. "I'm proud to be your friend Sera, and I'm glad I'm here right now, because otherwise you'd be alone. Don't even think about playing the self-pity card; you're way too badass to get outsmarted by that douchebag. You just have to _think_. I'll even shut up."

 _Easier said than done_ , she thought to herself as she tried to relieve the tension in her muscles without success. _No runes, no fighting, just dreams. How does that help me right now?_

She thought of the last time she had been here, and how easy it had been to escape. She knew that she took her abilities for granted, but this was a bitter lesson to swallow. All of her grand plans to save Rayce would fizzle and die if she couldn't get out of here.

 _He'll think that I gave up,_ she thought with a sinking feeling. _That I forgot about him._

Sera slowed her breathing, concentrating on inhaling as deeply as possible through her nose, despite the smell, and exhaling through her mouth. She needed to be calm if she was going to deal with this.

As she relaxed, she felt her mind drift back to Rayce, as it always did. She had been on the opposite side of the same problem when he had vanished after escaping this cell. She couldn't track him while he wore the bangle, but she had been able to catch sight of him with her gift.

 _That doesn't help_ _if he can't see_ me. She closed her eyes and Rayce's smiling face was replaced with a more recent image of Zeke, his grey eyes serious, and she grew confused before his voiced floated to the surface of her memory. _"I believe in you, girl. I know he dreamed about you the night before all of this even started – he's always been out there waiting for you, even if he didn't know it."_

Her heart sped up. _Or_ can _he see me?_ She rifled back through her dreams, feeling the same sucker punch that always accompanied watching him being whipped, and she remembered his eyes widening in surprise when they had made eye contact as he had counted the tenth lash.

Their connection was completely unique. It reached all the way back to her first true dream, when she had been only a girl in a fantasy land of beautiful monsters come to revel under the stars. From the moment she had locked eyes with Rayce as a child, she'd felt it, known that she had to find him. _From the moment we locked eyes..._ Sera's head jerked up before she remembered her uncomfortable position. _Holy shit._

"Steven," she called out. "I need to run something crazy by you."

"I'm all about that crazy. What's up?"

She quickly gave him the relevant details about the two dreams and passed on Zeke's odd comment before asking, "Do you think it's possible to... dream _at_ Rayce?"

He looked sceptical. "That's next-level crazy, Sera. You honestly believe you could reach him in a dream?"

"Maybe," Sera said excitedly. "The first time, only one of us was asleep, and the second time, I got sucked into a vision even while I was awake, like he was _reaching_ for me and I _had_ to go." She swallowed thickly, wishing for a drink of water. "If we were _both_ asleep..."

"You think you could talk to him?" Her new-found energy was infecting him, and he felt hope growing in the darkness.

"What do I have to lose for trying?" Sera rolled her eyes.

"That depends. How serious do you think that asshat was about getting results? 'Cause he seems like the kind of guy who would take any excuse to cut off a finger or two," Steven answered with a brave face.

"Then I'll have to do both. I'm pretty sure he'll ask if I even tried his brand of insanity, and as long as he can use Maellartach against me, I can't bullshit him."

"Maellartach?" Steven looked awestruck.

"The Mortal Sword. It forces Shadowhunters to tell the truth." Sera closed her eyes again, falling back into the familiar routine of relaxing herself back to the brink of falling asleep.

"Okay, first, that is a _awesome_ name for a sword. And second, it's a pretty big warning sign that you guys need something to force Shadowhunters to be honest. Don't you think that's a big red flag for your kind?"

Sera felt the first tugs of sleep on her mind and she dropped all of her ties to her body, leaving Steven and the suffering behind so that she could drift away on the current as it pulled her away from the cell and into the world of dreams.

 _The ashes of Alicante blew across the cobblestone streets of the city, fluttering in the wind as Sera opened her eyes to a deserted ruin. Some buildings had collapsed, the rubble spilling carelessly down into the walkways, while others stood silently with broken windows like dark eyes that watched her pass. The demon towers still stood tall, casting down their soft light to illuminate the devastation. Sera wasn't sure if the destruction was a true reflection of what had happened, or if it was simply magnified by her dream, but it saddened her to see the once-beautiful city destroyed._

 _She moved slowly through the streets, uncertain of why she was here. She had bent all of her focus toward Everett's impossible task in the moments before sleep had claimed her, but she had awoken in an empty city._

 _Thick fog rose slowly from the canals, creeping upward over the walls to begin carpeting the boulevards in every direction. The sky dimmed overhead and twisted toward night in moments, bringing a chill that seeped up from the stones under her feet. Her breath puffed in and out in tiny clouds and she shivered at the sudden change, but continued walking through the eerie tableau._

 _A shadow appeared in the fog ahead of her, or perhaps it was born of the fog, and it quickly materialized into a sleek figure dressed in a stylish suit. Wide, black eyes stared out from an exotic face that had been untouched by the centuries, and then she heard Jiahao's mocking laughter roll out around her._

" _I think you'll find that there may be a great change in the world on the horizon," his image taunted her again as she approached, but she did not fear shadows in her dreams. She was a Shadowhunter. He vanished just as she reached him, melting away back into the fog._

 _Her search for answers had taken her from one end of the world to the other without success, and she felt shame burning in her cheeks as she was reminded of her failure by the exiled Faerie Lord._

 _A cascade of broken stones slid down a shattered staircase inside a home that had lost its entire front facade, leaving the rooms exposed. Sera spun around in a crouch and a seraph blade sprang to life in her hand._

 _Zeke descended slowly, his black gear coated in a thin layer of ash. He clapped his hands together to knock off some of the dust, sending it up in a puff. His dark hair was streaked grey from the flakes, and he nodded at her encouragingly as he crossed his arms and leaned against what was left of the wall at the bottom of the stairs._

" _Rayce needs you," he said again seriously. "And I think you need him, too, even if you don't understand why yet." His words from the Rift echoed back at her. "There's a reason you found him, Sera, and I don't think it was just so that you could lose him."_

" _I'm not going to lose him," Sera promised the Stripped Shadowhunter just before he faded away._

 _She reluctantly pushed Rayce away from her thoughts – she couldn't afford to be distracted now. She had to focus on what was important._

 _The boulevard she was following dead-ended at an enclosed playground, and she slipped through a wrought-iron gate in the fence with a feeling of apprehension. The swings hung silently in the rising mist, and swirls blew across the pavement of a disused basketball court to reveal two figures crouching in the brume._

 _Clary's red hair shone in the strange, washed-out light of the demon towers when she looked up to see Sera nearing. She held an oversized piece of white sidewalk chalk poised in her right hand, like the kind that Mundane children used on their driveways during the lazy months of summer._

 _Sera saw that the court had been transformed by her work, covered over with an exact replica of the ritual site markings on Wrangel Island. The runes stretched out in the same dizzying pattern that had sent Sera to her knees when she had stared at it too long, and she felt the world tilt again at the unnatural, forced combination of demonic and angelic glyphs._

" _The smaller circle represents us, the Mortal world," Clary repeated, sketching around the runes at her feet. "The ring around it symbolizes the protection laid down by Heaven's hand to protect us from the Void." She gestured out toward where Tessa had recreated the third ring in red chalk. "The theory goes that the ellipse of demonic power pressing up against our happy little bubble is allowing corruption to seep over and create raw spots where the demons can force their way through."_

 _Relieved to see that her dream had brought her back toward Everett's twisted mission, she knelt down with the two women once again._

" _I don't understand," she whispered._

 _The half-warlock smiled obligingly and drew the red chalk in her hand across her palm. "For someone to take control of the circle once more, they would need re-draw the sigils with the mixed blood of Sammael and Lilith."_

" _But that's impossible," Sera protested. "You said it yourself. Sammael is dead, slain by Michael himself."_

 _The mirrored ritual site flickered around Sera, switching between the chalk drawings on pavement to bloody sigils drawn on ancient stone between one heartbeat and the next. Clary and Tessa vanished with the playground and firelight crackled to life around her to burn through the murky clouds of rolling fog that parted to reveal the private room on the upper levels of the vampire bar in the Rift._

 _Cassius dropped like a stone from the night sky above her and Sera fell back onto the curving couch in spite of herself at the sight of the Greater Fey with his missing wing restored leaning casually against the pole in the centre of the raised platform. He was clothed exactly as she had last seen him when he bore away the Unseelie King's body, promising that it would never be found. The twin torahk-na rested easily on his hips._

 _He lowered his great, black wings and revealed a ghostl_ _y image of Rayce reclining in the Cajun vampire's arms. Blood trickled down Remy's chin as he turned to look at her with ecstasy in his eyes._ _"Such a rarity... it's been too long since I've had the taste of one of Sammael's brood. And that hint of something else... something dark. Absolutely exquisite – I've never had anything like it."_

" _Rayce…" Sera breathed, dazed as the pair disappeared as suddenly as they had come._

 _Cassius held out his hand to her and pulled her into an embrace, his strong arms hard and unyielding. She could feel his warm breath stir her hair as he whispered playfully in her ear, "Have you forgotten my lesson so quickly?_ _Many of the Greater Fey derive part of their name from that of one of their parents; it was a common practice."_

 _She saw again the page that chronicled the children of the Seelie Queen, and read the header with fresh eyes. Sammaradriel. And at the bottom, Rayce Morgenstern. Son of Sebastian Morgenstern, a Shadowhunter blessed or cursed to have been given the blood of…_

" _Lilith." Sera covered her mouth with her hands when Cassius melted away, leaving her to drop to her knees in shock. The bloodlines of Lilith and Sammael had been joined… in Rayce._

 _Her heart started pounding as she grasped the immensity of the memories that were being knitted together by her strange gift and a more desperate need that she had ever felt. Pieces of the puzzle had been scattered across the world, but no one had ever held them all at once, as she did now._

 _One demon slain by Heaven's hand, the other cursed to never bear a living child; it should have been impossible for their blood to ever mingle, but fate had twisted to give the Nephilim a chance to unlock the poisonous ellipse of runes that lay upon their world's wards like a crown of thorns. Sera was breathless just thinking about it._ Rayce!

 _The dream responded to her heart's desire and spun her around faster and faster, dragging her down into a haunting forest filled with the same thick fog as her vision of Alicante. Faces frozen in horror screamed silently from just below the surface of the bark on the trees, and Sera backed away from them hurriedly. She stood in a small clearing marked by a cairn of carefully-stacked stones that trailed thick chains. Nothing looked familiar, and the dream continued to spin slowly around her through the forest._

 _Clary appeared around the edge of one of the trees, her brows furrowed in thought as Sera's mind reflected back another piece of a memory._

" _Something about paths to Heaven and Hell, or something like that..." she muttered again, trying to remember the story of Thomas the Rhymer for Sera once more._

 _Eyes in the trunk of one of the monstrous trees next to Sera flicked open, black orbs that burned with hatred as they saw the Shadowhunter girl once more. She recognized the hiss of the Unseelie King's voice as a split opened in the bark and he said slowly, "At Hell's maw and Heaven's gate."_

 _Pulse racing, Sera's eyes widened. The rings of runes at the ritual site glowed in her memory, flaring white and red where seraphic power did all that it could to hold back the demonic threat._

 _Mark Blackthorn dropped down from the branches of another tree like a cat, landing silently at her side with sadness in his eyes. He took her hands gently in his own. "I am only Unbound, Sera. I do not believe that even the Hunt knows how to reunite the two halves of a Hunter's soul from beyond the veil."_

 _The King's face in the tree snarled at the half-Faerie before continuing, "Gamble all to undo fate."_

 _Faint strains of eerie music drifted through the fog to herald the approach of the sepulchral form of Veralysia. The wasted Faerie glided forward through the twisted Forest in her tattered robes until she reached the trunk that bore the likeness of the Unseelie King. Her spectral hands curled into fists as she stared down at the wooden visage._

" _No power on earth can bring back the dead," she whispered despairingly even as the King hissed, "Trade away one final breath, close bitter eyes and embrace death."_

 _Sera felt the weight of the dream pressing down on her, and she struggled to absorb everything she was seeing and feeling, trying to process it while it was still fresh._

 _Two silhouettes materialized in the fog and resolved into Hunter and Aspen holding hands like frightened children in a fairy tale forest of monsters, and Sera had to admit that it wasn't far from accurate in a dream like this. Aspen's golden hair shone like Sera's own in the misty blue-white light of the forest and she took a deep breath, squeezing Hunter's hand in her own for strength, and Sera heard her own voice echo in the space between herself and the two strange parabatai, "Basically, Aspen, it sounds like you made a parabatai bond with a guy who was almost dead."_

 _The split in the Unseelie King's face trickled blood as he repeated the last words of his long life,"Chain death to life and heart to soul; entwined as one to be made whole."_

 _Sera shook her head slowly, but dared to believe, even if she had no idea how it was possible. Heat blazed through her chest, filling her with hope as she looked up to see Cassius reclining comfortably in the branches of the tree, gently swinging one barefoot lazily beneath him._

 _He called down to her one final scrap of memory that hit Sera like a punch to the gut. "Even Luchareon would not have been able to anchor its power alone. It binds those who are split between the worlds. He could tether its power in this world, but not in the next. I think he called upon his father for help."_

Sera's eyes snapped open, dropping her back into her cell with a sharp dose of agony as she became aware of her body once more. She panted shallowly as she struggled to keep the dream fresh in her mind, her _mnemosyne_ rune potentially compromised by Everett's gambit. Cassius' voice was fading. _Called upon his father for help._

The torches had burned down in their brackets, and Steven was snoring gently against the wall. She thought about waking him up to tell him what she had seen, but she wasn't finished yet. Wild energy raced through her from the revelations and filled her with confidence for the next step.

 _No one's coming for you now,_ Everett had promised her, certain that Seraphine's enchanted bangle would work against Sera now that she was his prisoner, but she silently vowed to prove him wrong. She knew what she had to do.

The strange air of deep Faerie rushed through Rayce's hair as the Wild Hunt soared over the endless fields of purple and red grass that whispered softly below. The sky remained unchanged from his last visit, clouds of orange, red, and yellow scudding across the sky as if to mirror the flames of the Mortal realm he had left behind.

Far more wary on this trip than the last, Rayce rode at the rear of the Hunt, watching his brothers carefully for any sign of betrayal. He knew it was only a question of _when_ , not _if,_ and he sighed tiredly. He couldn't even remember when he had last slept. Had he? Something had to be done. _Soon,_ he told himself, _before I slip any farther away._

Guilt gnawed at him for the dead firefighters and the scattering of other unfortunate Mundanes the Hunters had found, now borne by those ahead of him, but no matter how many times he replayed the scene in his mind, he didn't see how he could have done anything differently to save them from their grisly fate. How long would the Forest be satisfied this time? Hours? Days? The seams of time pulled at him as he passed deeper into Faerie and he reminded himself that it was irrelevant here.

They followed the meandering river of sluggish water that churned lazily through the hills toward where the Eternal Forest waited, and Rayce felt a growing sense of apprehension in his chest. Would his father find him here again? A headache began to pulse gently in his temples and he closed his eyes against the exhaustion he was feeling as his steed bore him down toward the edge of the Forest.

The other Hunters touched down gently with their grim harvest and many turned back to watch him land with malevolent eyes. He sat up straighter in his saddle and looked over them imperiously, trying desperately to mask his fatigue with the lessons he had learned from Bael long ago. He could see his brother near the edge of the group, watching him carefully.

Rayce lifted his arm and pointed deeper into the Forest. "Give them an honourable end." The trees at the edge of the forest were still gluttonously filled with their most recent feeding, and the Hunters would need to venture deeper to find trunks still awaiting fresh victims. That would give him more time away from the dangerous Fey warriors.

"None of you are to come find me. You will wait in the Forest until I return. No one leaves until I give the order." He fixed a hard look on a few of the Hunters whom he felt certain had slipped away while he had descended into the Unseelie Court. Azad met his gaze fearlessly, an expression of amusement playing across his features as he accepted the unspoken accusation.

Rayce could see Vindictus shaking his head slowly as he heard the clumsy commands. The tall Faerie tilted his head to one side to listen to one of the Hunters muttering quietly in his ear, and he laughed softly in agreement with whatever was said. Kieran's eyes held a deadly promise in their silver and black depths. Bael stood apart from the others, but Rayce caught several quick looks shot in the former Crown Prince's direction. Suspicion crept into his heart as he saw those furtive glances. _What game, indeed, brother?_

Wrenching the reins of his mount around firmly, Rayce lifted away from the Hunters before the tension rose any further.He couldn't think of any other safe way to escape from them, and at least they would be too busy for a while to cause any trouble. He soared out over the queer sea of grass until he found a small rise capped with a slim-branched tree that resembled a willow, though its trunk was bone-white and its hanging boughs dripped with blooms of sapphire and azure.

Far away from the other Hunters, Rayce let his mount vanish and then he collapsed heavily into the odd grass of deep Faerie, burying his face in his hands. _I can't do this_. His life had narrowed down to a three-way contest to see who would kill him first; the Hunters, the Forest, or his father. He was so tired.

A lump was digging into his side painfully, and he reached down to tug the offending object free only to find that he was holding the worn witchlight given to him by Mark Blackthorn. He could still see the burning intensity in the Unbound's eyes when he had pressed it into his hand and reminded him that he was not forgotten. Tears welled up and he let them come.

 _Sleep, Rayce_ , a voice whispered on the wind. His head snapped up in response, searching for his father as if his thoughts had summoned him. But the voice wasn't right. His mismatched eyes swept over the immediate area, and he craned his neck to peer through the cascade of blue flowers flowing down along the branches of the odd tree, but there wasn't anywhere to hide, and no hint of a scarlet jacket. _This is it,_ he thought. _I'm truly mad now._

 _Please, Rayce, trust me…_ the voice was feminine, and if he wasn't certain that it couldn't be Sera, he might have thought it was her. His heart sank as he cast a glance back down to where the very edge of the Eternal Forest was visible in the distance, and distrust flared up. He jumped to his feet once more and screamed at the trees, "Just leave me alone!"

His voice cracked, and he sank back to his knees weakly, leaning forward on his hands as his head fell forward. "Just leave me alone," he whispered, breaking inside.

 _Rayce!_ Sera's voice in his mind was unmistakable this time and he could almost feel her displeasure. _I need you to sleep…_

"Sera?" he whispered, daring to hope. But there was no answer on the wind. He waited, straining to hear her, and was left disappointed. A fluttering breeze brushed across his face lightly, and he could almost imagine her touch. He exhaled slowly.

 _Do I dare to sleep here?_ His head throbbed in response, but he couldn't deny that he wanted to. If it was just the wild fantasies of a man losing his mind, did he really have anything left to lose in trying? But if it really was Sera... and she needed him...

Rayce rolled over onto his back to look up at the sunless sky above and watched the clouds drift by lazily on their way to nowhere. He lifted his right hand and looked at the witchlight stone again. _You are not forgotten._ The words echoed in his mind and he squeezed the stone gently, coaxing it to life.

Bathed in witchlight, Rayce brought the stone down to his chest and folded his left hand over it, closing his eyes. A tiny smile curved his lips upward as he felt exhaustion claim him.

 _I'm coming, Sera._

 _Rayce opened his eyes to the same strange sky of deep Faerie as if he had only blinked instead of falling asleep. He stood up slowly, marvelling at how light he felt. The cloak had vanished from around his shoulders, and instead he wore the black leather gear of a Shadowhunter, the ancient sword gone from his waist so that only his staff remained, slung across his back as always. The gear was familiar and comfortable, and he wished he could keep it._

" _Rayce," Sera breathed softly from behind him, and he turned, unable to believe that this was possible. His eyes travelled up her body, past the black jacket that was nearly identical to his own, drinking in every line until he reached her face and forgot how to breathe. Here, in the dream world, her angelic heritage was more clear than ever before. This was her world._

 _Spills of vibrant blue flowers from the odd tree created an unearthly backdrop for her as she stepped toward him hesitantly. She lifted her left hand and he mirrored the movement unconsciously, reaching up to twine his fingers into hers, still in awe that she was really here. The feel of her hand in his made his pulse race, and she ducked her head down for a moment, overcome by the simplicity of the connection._

 _Unable to help himself, he gently stroked her cheek and lifted her face to kiss her at last. It was selfish; they couldn't be together anymore, but he just couldn't quite bring himself to accept it, not here, not when she was so close. Her lips were achingly soft on his own, and he breathed in deeply, his free hand sliding around the back of her neck to tangle in her hair. His sister's words came rushing back to him, ' To be loved by one of the Nephilim is as close to the love of Heaven as one may get.' And who was more truly Nephilim than Sera? He reeled in her hand and held it to his chest, needing her so badly it almost hurt._

" _Rayce, wait," she whispered against his lips, pulling back. "I need you."_

" _I need you, too," he whispered back, renewing their kiss with a slow-burning passion that drew a startled gasp from Sera. How could he have ever thought he could live without her?_

 _She pushed back against his chest gently and broke away again, breathless, with a crooked smile. "You're making this way more difficult than it needs to be," she scolded him. "I don't know how long I can keep this up."_

 _Rayce's eyebrows drew together. "How are you doing this?"_

 _She shook her head. "I don't know. We've always been connected, ever since you first saw me when I dreamed of you in the tournament. I never really thought about it until you saw me again from the Unseelie Court." Her face darkened and she punched him in the arm lightly. "Which reminds me - w_ hy _didn't you listen to my warning? I_ told _you not to be stupid!"_

 _He shook his head in confusion. "What warning?"_

" _I left you a message on some godforsaken field after cutting my way through about a dozen Hellhounds," she answered slowly. "I_ saw _you there in a dream – you were standing right over a Mundane with a bright red jacket. I left my mother's stele for you. There's no way you could have missed seeing it."_

 _Rayce closed his eyes and tried to picture the scene again in his mind. He remembered kneeling down, finding a child curled in the arms of her father, and making the decision that would lead to his eventual punishment in the Unseelie Court. But before that... he clenched his teeth. Baelerithon._

 _'Satisfied with your spoils, brother?' Rayce had asked harshly, disgusted that his brother had stooped to pillaging amongst the dead._

 _'Very,' Bael had answered._

 _The truth, but twisted by a Faerie tongue. There was no doubt in his mind that his brother had intercepted Sera's message and withheld it from him to further his own designs. He remembered again the confrontation with Bael in the tunnels of the Unseelie realm, meeting him alone on the way back to the other Hunters._

 _'Oh dear, brother. It looks as though you've let your temper get away from you,' Bael had mocked. He had known exactly what Rayce was walking into before it had happened._

But why? _Rayce asked himself._ What does he get out of this? _He couldn't see his brother's game yet, but he felt a familiar anger flare in his chest just knowing that he had become a pawn once more, and his eyes snapped open again, filled with simmering rage._

" _Stop taking chances," Sebastian warned him from behind Sera, but he ignored the scarlet-clad Shadowhunter. Time enough for him later._

" _Rayce?" She could feel the change that had come over him as he had pieced together his brother's duplicity, and she sensed the rising darkness even if she couldn't see his father standing behind her._

 _Rayce pulled her back into his arms, crushing her against his chest tightly as he buried his face in her hair to breathe her in again. "Sera..." he murmured gratefully. "You're saving me again even if you don't know it yet." It was time to deal with Bael before the broken prince could bring whatever he was planning to fruition. Rayce's eyes narrowed dangerously over her head, and Sebastian nodded in silent approval._

 _The sky rumbled ominously with the roll of thunder, and the bright clouds that had filled the sky when he fell asleep began to darken, bruising to hues of blue and purple. He felt Sera's arms tighten around him quickly before letting go, and he drew back in confusion._

" _Rayce, this can't last much longer, and now it's your turn to save me," she said desperately. "The new Consul has me chained under the Gard in the same cell we found ourselves in last time, but he has it spelled to cancel out runic magic. I can't get out alone."_

 _If he thought that he had been angry before, he had underestimated the full range of his emotions. Molten fury crashed through him at the thought of her imprisoned. Black lightning streaked down from the sky and Sera fell away from him as his furor ripped apart the delicate fabric of her dream._

 _Sebastian howled with wild laughter as the storm broke over the sapphire willow and Rayce screamed his wrath into the whipping wind as he was swept back into the waking world._

Rayce snapped awake with a fire blazing in his chest, all of his exhaustion and melancholy from before burned away with a frenzied clarity that showed him the way. He knew what he had to do. The cloak of the Hunt swirled around him as he swung himself up into the saddle of his dread steed.

"I'm coming, Sera."


	18. Chapter 18

**18**

Baelerithon watched impassively as Rayce lifted away from the Hunters after his shaky attempt to assert his command. It was easy to mark the signs of exhaustion in his brother's features and to look past his veneer of control; the Shadowhunter would break under the strain soon, and then it would be time to strike.

The other Faeries around him moved slowly, none of them in any great hurry to obey Rayce's orders. He had failed to specify a timeline for his wishes despite his increasing care with his words. Bael pursed his lips and shook his head disdainfully to himself. _I never had much hope for one so tainted by Mortal blood, but I did try, Mother._

Vindictus was still laughing quietly with another of the Hunters as Fiorinor casually inspected the chipped length of the sword he carried. All three of the Fey looked up as Bael approached, wary of their newest brother. They were among those the former prince had marked out as having weaker familial bonds to the others, and were therefore less likely to retaliate against him for the losses the Hunt had suffered during the retaking of the Seelie Court. He felt Kieran's watchful presence at his back, a silent ally lending credibility to Bael's words without over-committing himself. _Smarter than I gave him credit for,_ Bael noted with surprise.

"Vindictus, Fiorinor, Arctos," he greeted them cautiously, not yet daring to call them brothers, but still confident enough to use the names he had been so carefully collecting.

"Prince Baelerithon," Vindictus replied graciously with a slight nod. _Unexpected, but not unwelcome._ The Faerie was familiar to him, having been a member of the Unseelie Court up until barely two Mortal years earlier when he had been revealed to have been attempting to reach for the King's crown. Vindictus was hardly a novice when it came to spinning subterfuge, and Bael was pleased to find that the other man seemed to hold some degree of respect for his own bid for the throne.

The sallow, satyr-hooved Faerie at his side spat into the red and purple grasses at their feet, but declined to offer either an open insult or a greeting. _Fair enough._

Arctos rolled his eyes and left the other two without a word.

Bael caught the quick flick of Vindictus' eyes as he took Kieran's measure over the former Crown Prince's wingless shoulder. He tried to read the armoured Faerie's reaction to judge if it was favourable, but the Unseelie was skilled at hiding his emotions.

Vindictus lifted a finger to forestall Baelerithon. "Allow me to guess. You are seeking allies to help you bring down your brother and strip that cloak from his shoulders. You know that you cannot best him in fair combat, and so now you require smoke and mirrors to distract him while you weave in closer for the kill."

Bael spread his hands in acceptance. "Smoke and mirrors would not avail me long against you, my Lord, though they seem simple enough to fool my brother." Pride had been Vindictus' weakness at Court, as evidenced by his continued use of a silver-filigree coronet that marked a lesser Lord of the Unseelie. The King would likely have stripped it from him before consigning him to the Hunt, save that it would serve as a cruel reminder of what had been lost. Bael had read it all in the other Faerie while matching up pieces of what he knew of him, and it all paid off as Vindictus' lips twitched up in pleasure at hearing his old title once more.

"Many simple things would likely fool your brother, Prince Baelerithon. Your mother should not have bred so far beneath herself with the Morgenstern boy." The Hunter's pale blue and black eyes narrowed as he refocused on Bael. "I, however, am capable of small leaps in reasoning. The cloak can only be worn by one man, and I am uninterested in helping a Seelie claim it."

Adopting a smile touched with faint, and false, amusement, Bael masked his disappointment and touched his brow lightly before murmuring, "A pity, my Lord." He turned away and plainly saw displeasure in Kieran's eyes as their first attempt to reel in more co-conspirators failed. Seeing the foolish Unseelie child daring to pass judgement on him brought his temper up for a moment before he crushed it ruthlessly. _Time is on my side._

"Prince Baelerithon," Vindictus called quietly, laying a finger to his lips when Bael looked back. "It may amuse us to play at being smoke and mirrors if the opportunity should arise." He grinned wickedly and the broken prince returned the smile gratefully with a nod of thanks. _Too quickly, Vindictus,_ Bael mused happily. _If you think it will be easier to win the cloak from me once my brother is dead, you are gravely mistaken._

Kieran opened his mouth, no doubt to ask about the sudden reversal of their fortune, but a hard stare from Bael silenced him.The Seelie summoned his grey mount from the ether and swung himself up into the saddle to follow the sledge behind his unlikely ally's steed deeper into the Eternal Forest where the trees awaited their macabre meal.

At least two others had noticed the quiet exchange, and Bael met their contrasting looks boldly. A spill of midnight-blue hair concealed the shining eye of the Hunter who called himself Azad so that only one black orb watched curiously from further back in the trees. His dusky face was brushed with mischievous delight as he continued to mentally advance the pieces on the chessboard of the Hunt after assessing the interaction. Bael had marked him out as a loner, but the fact remained that he _had_ marked him out. His play-style was more similar to Bael's own than any other Hunter, and as such, the prince had resolved to keep a wary eye on him.

The other Hunter who had paid attention frowned quietly at Baelerithon. Caelus had seemed to have developed a strange attachment to Rayce in his short tenure as Lord of the Hunt, and Bael was still uncertain if the Unseelie was manipulating his way closer to their cagey leader, or if there truly was a budding friendship growing between the two.

Heeling his mount forward, the broken prince looked away from Caelus nonchalantly. The Unseelie King had thrown too many of his sons to the Hunt over the centuries, but there had been a great number of voices raised again Caelus' banishment when Bael had been barely more than a teenager. He didn't know many of the details, but the soft-spoken Unseelie had been sentenced following a farce of a trial on a thin accusation.

 _I'll learn your play soon enough,_ Bael promised.

Kieran looked around carefully before casting a sideways glance at the former Crown Prince. "How much longer until we attack?" He unconsciously stroked the hilt of the enchanted dagger at his side and Bael saw the red line of the new scar running across the back of Kieran's right hand. It would be the last thing to heal. _Except, perhaps, for his pride._ He was still far too eager to take revenge for his humiliation at Rayce's hands.

"Patience, Prince Kieran," Bael said soothingly. "It won't be long now."

Rayce's black horse snorted flames as he raced through the unreal sky of deep Faerie, scanning the Forest below for the familiar blue hue of his sly brother. He saw other Hunters look up as he blew past overhead, but they did not call out or halt in their grisly task of feeding the carnivorous trees. Whether they could sense his mood or simply didn't care, none dared to challenge the Lord of the Hunt now.

 _Idiot!_ Rayce howled at himself. How could he have been so blind even after Bael had been revealed as a traitor? He felt his heart give an extra thump in his chest as he thought about Sera, and he silently thanked her again for helping him to see the truth before it was too late. _At least, I hope it isn't too late._

He slowed his mount as caution replaced anger. Baelerithon was a clever opponent. It was quite possible that he had already set contingencies in place in case his duplicity was discovered before he could strike. _Why can't he just leave me alone? Why do they all want this terrible burden?_

 _History repeats itself,_ Gwyn whispered in response from the back of Rayce's mind. Memories flickered to life, ancient recollections from when the Hunt had been only a handful of Faeries serving their eternal sentences. A flash of silver hair, heavy chains, and a shrinking circle of light around a lonely cairn deep in the Forest teased at the edge of Rayce's mind.

Fascinated, he didn't shove them away as he usually would. Gwyn's sadness became his own as Rayce watched the shadow of the big Faerie in his mind pass his own justice on a rebellious brother long ago. His anger cooled and was replaced by rock-steady resolve.

 _History repeats itself,_ he agreed with the dead man.

Seconds ticked by as he searched for his brother and Rayce fought down his uneasiness about not knowing how much time was passing in the Mortal world. How long had it been since he had woken from Sera's dream? Could he afford to linger? _Perhaps only seconds have passed,_ he hoped desperately.

Bael's unfamiliar profile came into view below, missing the great raven-feather wings that Rayce was so accustomed to seeing. He surveyed the area around his brother and caught sight of Kieran hauling the burned body of a Mundane off a sledge. _Coincidence? I think not, brother._

Rayce dove from the sky and landed his mount heavily behind Bael, trampling red and purple stalks under smoking hooves. Both Faeries turned in surprise at his arrival, but Rayce didn't give them any chance to recover themselves. His right hand crushed around his brother's throat and then he _shifted_ them both away from the Unseelie.

Again and again, Rayce _shifted_ through the Forest, each new jump bringing them closer to his goal without leaving a trace for the others to follow if they were so inclined. Bael didn't even have the luxury of struggling in his grasp; the suffocating pressure of each _shift_ was completely disorienting to someone unused to the sensation and not born to it as Rayce was. When the Shadowhunter finally stopped _shifting_ , he threw his brother down contemptuously at the base of a carefully-stacked cairn of stones.

Bael coughed and rubbed at his throat in amazement, shocked by his brother's unexpected attack. His black and amber eyes blinked in confusion as he took in their surroundings. A natural clearing, a little over a hundred feet across, was surrounded by the horrific trees of the Eternal Forest and bordered on one edge by a small stream that likely flowed from the great river that cut through this part of deep Faerie. The stones behind him were weathered with age and scarred deeply in places. Two long, heavy, black chains trailed from anchor points within the rock, and Bael felt a thrill of fear in his stomach. This place felt... _evil._ Perhaps he had waited too long. _But if I can just reach him..._

"Don't move, brother," Rayce warned in a low, deadly voice, wary of his brother's tricks. "You will not touch me."

Bael felt his muscles lock as his brother crouched down in front of him and patted down his clothing. The thrill of fear became a twinge of dread. _He knows._ His desire to squirm away was squashed by his brother's command. Rayce drew a long, thin object from within Bael's tunic and looked down at the stele with resigned disappointment in his eyes.

"Where is the note?"

Bael's eyes widened. _But_ how _does he know?_ Rayce's right hand shot out and slapped him across the face.

"Where is the note?" He repeated. "Answer me."

"Burned," Bael sputtered, reeling.

"What did it say? The exact words, nothing omitted or added." Rayce was very still, a dangerous calm that did little to conceal the storm inside of him.

The broken prince narrowed his eyes, but was compelled to answer. " _R, don't go to the Unseelie Court if you can avoid it. If you have to go, don't be an idiot! Keep your mouth shut! Smile and nod if you have to! I dreamed that the King had you whipped. This was my mother's stele – I saw that you might need it. Don't give up, I'm working on it. All my love, always, S."_

Rayce closed his eyes as his brother confirmed his suspicions and damned himself with every word. He rose and rubbed his temples.

"Why did you keep the stele?"

Bael watched him carefully, frozen in place. "It may have become a useful bargaining chip later." He would have shrugged if he could have moved. "Do I correctly assume that 'S' is the girl who wrote the first letter to Zeke? He said her name was Sera."

Visibly shaking, Rayce's fingers tightened around the stele in his hand. "When?"

Bael smiled inwardly. Whatever his brother had in mind, this could be the last chance to sow seeds of doubt. "When we were held prisoner by Malchezed. We spoke of many fascinating things, brother. Of crowns and thrones, blood and succession."

"You need not concern yourself with crowns and thrones now, Bael," Rayce said sadly, Gwyn's sorrow bleeding through his voice to weigh down each word. "And you should never have reached for what you did not understand." He touched the clasp of the cloak.

"You were never born to lead," Bael sneered arrogantly. "You were born to perform tricks and amuse audiences, nothing more than a trained pet. _I_ was born to rule."

Shaking his head as he looked away, Rayce could hear Gwyn's voice during their duel in his mind, and he didn't even realize that he was whispering the same words now, "You don't know what it means to wear this cloak, princeling." His voice deepened slightly and changed, taking on an older accent and cadence that Bael didn't recognize. "It has been my burden to bear for centuries."

Confused, Bael's eyes searched his brother's face and he gasped when Rayce looked back at him and they locked eyes. _Something_ was there, deep inside, stirring.

"What you do not understand is that the Hunt is nothing more than a living prison," Rayce continued in a haunting double-voice that was both his own and something more. "And no matter what I may wish to the contrary, I am the warden of that prison." He advanced on Bael slowly, and it seemed as if the twisted trees around the clearing leaned forward to listen more closely.

"If a prisoner can no longer be trusted with the general population," he reached down to brush the heavy chains in the grass and they sprang to life at his touch, open manacles snapping shut seamlessly around Bael's wrists in less than a second. "Then the prisoner must be kept isolated so that they may do no further harm."

Tiny pinpricks of pain jabbed at the inside of Bael's wrists and he felt a slow-burning sting creep up through his arms like poison in his veins as it spread through him. He felt the paralysis enforced by his brother's command fade as the chains secured a far more unbreakable hold on him. Panic sent his heart racing and it must have shown on his face because Rayce raised his hand for silence.

"I'm not going to kill you, brother. You don't deserve it." He pointed back at the cairn that anchored the chains. "This will be all that is left to you."

Bael twisted around to get a better look at the stones and then noticed that the scratches he had mistaken before as weathering and scarring were far too evenly-spaced to have occurred naturally. They had been made by fingernails. Unable to contain his rising horror, Bael screamed and pushed himself away from the marker, backing into Rayce's shins in his haste. He looked up and wished he hadn't.

Shadows fell across the half-Faerie's face even in the absence of anything to cast them, and in the flickering patches of darkness, Bael saw the ghostly features of Gwyn ap Nudd, and knew at once that the chilling voice rolling out of Rayce was influenced by the dead man.

"The stories have forgotten my brother Matias, and few are left to wonder why he does not ride among us now. His fate shall now be yours."

Panting in fear, Bael scrabbled backwards away from his brother and the shadow of the former Lord of the Hunt until the ancient chains brought him to a halt on the far side of the cairn. He felt safer with something, _anything_ , between himself and the monster before him. _What's happening to him?_

Rayce vanished, _shifting_ forward to stand over his brother's prostrate form, and he lifted a finger in judgement.

"Let madness be your mother, emptiness your only friend, and loneliness your wedded partner. No more shall you answer the call of the Horn, nor shall you ride the endless winds of the world. Here you shall remain, chained as a traitor by the power of the Hunt, and forgotten by your brothers as Matias was before you. The years are long in deep Faerie, and you will have centuries to mourn all that you have lost."

He lifted his eyes to the silent sentinels standing at attention all around the clearing, twisted faces in the bark of their trunks yawning in endless screams, and then fixed his bifurcated gaze back on Bael one last time. "The Eternal Forest is a capricious companion; perhaps she will teach you to survive on the ley magic of the earth, or perhaps she will find that you are a helpless morsel when her hunger grows too fierce. Either way, I care not. You are dead to me, brother. May Heaven have mercy on your soul."

In a swirl of flames, Rayce summoned and mounted his dread steed with a thought and galloped away from Matias' grave and Bael's new prison. The rush of the wind buried whatever his brother screamed after him, but he didn't spare any more energy for the doomed prince. All of his thoughts turned to Sera as he sped through the darkening sky back toward the Mortal realm.

 _I'm coming, Sera._

Violet lightning streaked sideways across the boiling clouds in the burned-out night sky over the demon city of Pandemonium. Thunder followed almost immediately as the clouds churned in a tempest high above the snarling pit of monsters below. A tower built of rough-cut black basalt rose from the city, and a silvery light glowed from a balcony near the very top.

Inside the circular chamber, Asmodeus dismissed the images from the great scrying portal that shone between two ancient stone colonnades. The surface of the stones was carved in miniscule detail to capture the complicated demonic glyphs necessary to power the Oculus of Pandemonium, through which Greater Demons could turn their gaze on nearly any world, though any dimension they could reach.

He bent over an aged tomb on a marble plinth and ran a pale finger down a line of incomprehensible text, the dull light of the scrying portal reflecting off the white enamel of his immaculate armour. Silver flies decorated the vambrances strapped around his wrists as a reminder to any who would not recognize one of the Nine Princes of Hell in his full regalia.

In stark contrast, Lilith stormed up the curving staircase that led to the Oculus clad in a long, clinging black dress of sheer lace that left little to the imagination. The dangerously-high slit of the dress swished angrily as she stamped up the stone steps barefoot, her soles dirtied by the filth below.

"Another failure, Asmodeus," she snapped. "I'm beginning to regret coming to you to share my prize. Your attacks are doing _nothing_!"

Annoyance flickered across his bone-white face and coloured his voice. "Nothing that _you_ can see," he corrected her. He sighed faintly and continued under his breath, "This is why women are not made for war."

Lilith's eyes flashed with fury, and she gestured sharply at the Oculus portal. " _You_ are clearly not made for war either! _Look_ at what is defeating all of your precious plans!" The faces of two Nephilim men came into focus, one fair-haired and speaking animatedly while the dark-haired one listened with a serious expression. "It's them, _again!_ Older, no longer the children they were when they murdered my son, but it's _them!"_ Her voice rose to a screech, "I want them _dead!"_

"Your creature was a flawed failure – I simply cannot understand why you were so attached to him." Asmodeus waved dismissively at the images of the two Nephilim. "The Mortals are of little concern to me."

Nostrils flaring, Lilith shifted the angle of the image so that another face appeared, dark eyes worried behind glasses as he scrubbed a hand back through his messy hair.

"Does _this_ not concern you? I do believe that you intended for him to remain separated from his Shadowhunter friends to prolong their heartache, but they found a way around it. Now he's _one_ of them, _and_ fighting to defend against your attacks."

Asmodeus frowned as he looked at the former Daylighter. His memories had been a rich bounty, and his immortality, freely given, had been ecstasy to feed upon. But Lilith was correct; there had been no happy reunion with his friends in the bargain.

She saw that she had touched a nerve, and held her frustration carefully in check. Dealing with Asmodeus had to be handled delicately; charging in head-on would have the opposite effect she was seeking. Her voice dropped to a purr as she slipped closer to the other demon and trailed a finger down his pristine white breastplate.

"You're absolutely right, Asmodeus." Her black eyes, snake-free today, looked up at him apologetically. "I'm not fit to properly wage war on Earth. I may still be unable to _walk_ their world for decades more, but I can _fly_ and I can _see._ " Her power in their world had been broken once before, but she had continued to observe the Nephilim in her owl form.

The view in the Oculus slipped sideways a little bit further and a cat-eyed warlock came into view. Asmodeus leaned forward eagerly and a smile curled up one side of his mouth.

 _Got you,_ Lilith smirked to herself as her ally took in the familiar face of one of his many children, who had already twice escaped him. She fully intended that there not be a third escape for the troublesome warlock. She had watched as he had provided powerful cover from the dragon fire that should have put an end to their little coterie of rebels.

"Your son and his precious Nephilim are the ones leading the main defense against your strikes. Cut off the head..." she trailed off meaningfully as the silent image of the warlock drew closer until only he was visible. "And perhaps you'll capture a prize to sweeten the deal."

Asmodeus nodded thoughtfully, considering the options. It was almost too good to resist. In one strike, he could remove the commanders of the Nephilim, get revenge for the circumvention of his punishment for the Daylighter, and find a rich boost of vitality by finally draining his son. It was tempting...

 _...too tempting._ He lowered his green-gold eyes from the Oculus to where Lilith was looking up at him expectantly.

"Acting in emotion-driven haste is _your_ province, Lady Lilith, not mine." Asmodeus banished the images of the Nephilim from the scrying portal and turned back to the long column he had been examining when she had interrupted him. "I'm too close to completing my preparations."

Gaping, Lilith spun on him, her temporary control evaporating. "And what exactly," she seethed, "will you be doing that requires so much of your attention? You've done nothing!"

Asmodeus clucked his tongue at her and smirked. "Temper, temper," he warned, waving a finger at her. "As I said before, nothing that _you_ can see, and I very much doubt that the Mortals have noticed either. Besides, thousands of humans have already been slain just through my manoeuvring – I haven't even _begun_ to strike yet. Collateral damage," he scoffed.

"Billions more remain," she reminded him darkly. "The wards will not remain weakened forever. Even now, they are regenerating. They will not wait for you to finish _manoeuvring_."

Sighing in resignation, Asmodeus brought his hands together as if cupping an invisible ball, and a glowing blue globe appeared between them. "Since you are making it _increasingly_ clear that you will not cease pestering me, allow me to show you what you have not seen."

The ball expanded as he drew his hands outward to enlarge the globe, and the continents of Earth appeared swiftly. The globe spun lazily between his palms as he concentrated.

"I pushed hundreds of thousands of demons through the wards around Earth, feeding them into a metaphorical, seraphic meat-grinder. Only a fraction of them survived, as we had anticipated, but they had their orders, plain and clear." Red dots appeared all over the globe like a pox of demons upon the world.

"My initial strikes against Mortal cities drew the Shadowhunters quickly, and even showed that they could, to some extent, possibly sense where my legions were breaking through. I had to be more careful." His eyes glowed, reflecting the blue and red light of the globe in his hands. "The next wave was scattered all over their world, far from their strongholds, and the demons that survived the culling of the wards had commands to immediately vacate the areas where they broke through."

He looked over at where Lilith was waiting with baited breath. "I imagine," he said dryly, "that if you were watching, you may have seen the Nephilim stretching their forces thinly while finding no trace of my demons." She nodded, having watched many of the so-called Centurions coming up empty-handed and frustrated.

Asmodeus glanced down at the red spots once more. "The forerunners will make ready the path for those who wait," he whispered reverently. "These are the weakest points in their world's wards right now, and many are presently covered by one or two of the survivors. At my command, they will spill their blood in a globally-united ritual of sacrifice." He clapped his palms together and the world vanished. "It will be enough to tear the barriers between the realms in those areas so that the third wave..." A smile laced with deadly promise spread across his lips as he arched an eyebrow suggestively and he left the rest unsaid.

"Asmodeus..." Lilith breathed, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Forgive me."

He bowed his head graciously to accept the apology. "It won't matter if they have a way of knowing where the breaches occur," he said as he clenched his right hand into a fist. "There will be too many to count."

"And what of the Nephilim leaders? And your whelp?" She prompted him carefully, bringing the Oculus back to life so that her son's murderers were visible once more.

Asmodeus drew himself up to his full height and lovingly stroked the hilt of the Hell-forged sword belted at his side.

"If they become a problem," he promised, "I will deal with them personally."

Rayce rode into a light drizzle as he crossed the border into Idris with the sun setting at his back, and the clouds coming in from the east looked like they would be bringing a lot more rain soon. With a pang of regret, he remembered the last storm he had been caught in and the taste of rain on Sera's neck.

The glow of the demon towers appeared ahead of him as he raced toward the otherwise-darkened skyline of Alicante. Once he was closer, he urged his mount lower and gasped when he saw the extent of the devastation.

Charred ruins criss-crossed the city like scars, blackened stones jutting out of heaps of rubble where the intense heat of magically-enhanced fire had burned away everything else. Shattered glass twinkled on the slick cobblestone streets in the light of the towers where windows had been blown out by the first explosions that had rocked the city. The canals were choked with debris pressing up against iron grates in the currents and there was the faint stink of foul water that was no longer circulating properly. Rayce felt sick as he took in the ruination wrought by the Fey, and he tried to fix his first memories of beautiful Alicante in his mind instead of the wasted wreck below.

Gwyn's memories showed him a younger Alicante, when it had been little more than the original building that had stood where the current Gard now rose over the city, but Rayce pushed the Faerie away. He still didn't understand what had happened in the clearing with his brother, and he wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to.

 _Bael saw it too,_ Rayce tried to reassure himself. _I'm not completely crazy yet._ His thoughts drifted toward his father and he shook his head violently. _No. Both of you can just stay out of my head right now._ Below the Gard, Sera was waiting for him.

 _And the Hunt is waiting for you in the Eternal Forest_ , Gwyn warned him despite his wishes. Rayce winced. He had ordered them to remain there until he returned, and stipulated that no one could leave until he gave the order. The horn nestled against his side under the cloak could summon them to his command, but then what? Every day would be a struggle until one of them succeeded in killing him. Better to leave them right where they were until he had devised a better strategy. _Or until the Forest demands another feeding_ , he thought darkly.

The streets of Alicante were deserted as he circled the Gard once and took note of a few figures moving around inside. He wondered if any of them was the new Consul that Sera had mentioned. His hands tightened on the reins at the thought and he forced himself to breathe slowly and evenly. He needed to be focused and clear. _Sera first._

When it became clear that there was no one on duty outside, he landed lightly on the springy patch of lawn bordering the front steps and dismissed his steed with a thought. He pulled out the stele Sera had left for him and took a deep breath before pressing it against his forearm to begin Marking himself.

Every line burned as he drew each rune, and he gritted his teeth, regretting his Faerie blood as he did every time he set a stele to his flesh. Sera's touch had never hurt him, but he welcomed the pain as he hissed through his teeth. He had no idea what she had been doing since he had left her on Seraphine's balcony, but he was beginning to suspect that she had suffered far worse. Any amount of pain was worth the cost if it meant freeing her.

Once his arms were covered in the curving lines of the Marks, he added a few more for good measure down the sides of his abdomen and noted absently that he seemed thinner than he had been. He couldn't remember the last time he had eaten. The Hunt was consuming him.

He slipped the stele down into his boot for safe-keeping, determined not to lose this one. A spill of light rippled down the steps of the Gard as the doors opened and a Shadowhunter hurried down the stairs, lighting a cigarette as he went. He didn't see Rayce crouched in the shadows next to the stairs, and Rayce let him pass.

A minute later, his fresh Soundless rune let him run up the stairs silently, and he listened at the great doors of the Gard for a moment before pushing one open and slipping inside.

Deep below the Gard, Sera opened her eyes and gasped. She had been dreaming of a demon in brilliant white armour caressing a world laced with poison in his hands, but the dream had gone black and then flashed to an image of Rayce stalking through the empty prison block where he had managed to _shift_ them out of the Gard entirely the last time they had been here.

"Steven," she called anxiously. "Steven, wake up."

The mostly-Mundane groaned and lifted his chained hands to his face to gingerly feel the extent of the swelling again.

"Uggghhh," he muttered. "I was better off asleep where I couldn't feel this."

"He's coming," she hissed, trying to wiggle up to a sitting position. Her entire body ached from spending the day laying still brutally bound, and her stomach growled threateningly with hunger.

"Everett?" Steven tensed up.

"No, Rayce!" She managed to roll over onto one hip and swivel up to her knees. Her head swam with dizziness and she concentrated on her breathing.

"Damn, that worked?"

"Apparently."

Steven shifted against the wall and grimaced. "Speaking of not feeling this, on a scale of one to bad, how bad is it that my legs are kind of numb right now?"

Sera's heart broke as she looked at his battered face smiling as he attempted to crack jokes for her benefit, but she forced herself to sound positive. "Probably only like, a three, you big wuss. Maybe you just slept weird."

"Yeah, maybe," he agreed quickly, trying to rub some feeling back into his legs.

The sound of the locking bolt drawing back on the door of the cell made Sera's heart leap into her throat, as the the last time she had heard it, it had been Everett coming to gloat. But the nearly burnt-out stubs of the torches threw just enough light to see Rayce's shock of white hair as he pushed it open, and her face broken into a smile so wide it almost hurt.

Her grateful cry of, "Rayce!" was absolutely obliterated by the high-pitched scream of an alarm rune being tripped. Deafening blasts echoed off the stone of the cell, and Steven's hands shot up to cover his ears. Sera didn't have that luxury.

Rayce froze when he saw her kneeling in the centre of the room, her clothes dirty from lying in the filth on the floor, and her face smudged with muck. Gold and platinum waves of hair were stuck to her forehead and neck, and her lips were cracked with dryness. A bruise had bloomed high on her cheek where Everett had backhanded her earlier.

He absorbed all of it in an instant, and in the next, he reached over his shoulder for his double-bladed staff, the shriek of the alarm in his ears muted by the rush of blood as his anger surged back to life. Two quick cuts freed her wrists and elbows and her gasp of relief was lost in the shrill pulses of the alarm rune that must have been placed outside to detect if the door was opened without the rune being deactivated first.

Rayce gestured for her to stretch out the short length of chain keeping her tethered to the floor and then he brought the dual electrum and _adamas_ blade down with a powerful blow that shattered the links.

Steven had curled up with his hands over his ears, but Sera grabbed the chain that ran from the collar around his neck to the wall and Rayce smashed it open as well. She tried to pull her friend to his feet, but his legs shook and he collapsed in a heap.

"We have to get out of here!" Sera shouted at Rayce over the din. "I'll help him, you get us clear!" Unable to help herself she grabbed two handfuls of the cloak that she hated so much and pulled him toward her to press a fierce kiss to his lips for a moment before breaking away again. "Same rules! _No_ killing!"

She lifted Steven's arms over her head, inwardly relieved that his wrists were still chained together so that he wouldn't have to hang on. Rayce looked dazed by the unexpected kiss, but he shook it off and pulled out the witchlight stone from inside his cloak. Stroking the back of his fingers down Sera's face gently, he pressed the light into her hand and it blazed to life. Smiling faintly, Rayce adjusted his grip on his staff before splitting it into its two halves.

He led them back out through the cell door with Steven shuffling as best he could while leaning heavily on Sera. She wrapped one arm around his waist despite her own discomfort, witchlight shining brightly. Once clear of the cell, she used her free hand to press an _iratze_ into the side of her neck and she felt relief begin to spread down through her body.

Rayce pulled ahead as Steven slowed her down, and so he was alone when he reached the regular prison block once more and found three Shadowhunters pounding down the corridor of bars from the other end, seraph blades in hand.

 _No killing_ , Sera's voice repeated in his mind. The bruise on her face had stoked his wrath to a blaze in his chest, but he couldn't disobey her. He dropped the halves of his staff, and even before they clattered to the stone, he had vanished, _shifting_ behind the farthest of the three. His hands clamped down on the man's shoulders and then he _shifted_ again, this time into one of the empty cells. He released his hold on the Shadowhunter and then disappeared again, taking the seraph blade with him to drop outside the cell.

The other two Nephilim could barely follow his movements in the semi-darkness of the prison block that was lit only by their blades and the poor light coming in through the small windows. He was simply there one moment and gone the next, and it was the retching of their companion in a cell behind them that made them spin to confront Rayce.

Too slow for his rune-enhanced speed, Rayce caught the female Shadowhunter around the waist and _shifted_ away again, cutting short her gasp of surprise as he left her behind bars, heaving and weaponless as well.

Sera and Steven limped around the bend to see the third Shadowhunter backing away from Rayce toward them and flailing wildly with his seraph blade in an attempt to blindly ward off a third strike.

"Demon spawn!" The Nephilim warrior spat at Rayce.

 _Shifting_ forward inside the other man's reach, the Lord of the Hunt clamped down on the wrist of the hand wielding the seraph blade and bared his teeth. "Kind of." He twisted the Shadowhunter's wrist sharply and the seraph blade winked out as it hit the floor with the other two just as Rayce deposited him in his own cell.

All three of the Clave Shadowhunters were on their hands and knees vomiting as Rayce scooped up the two halves of his staff.

"Ooh, I know that voice," Steven said gleefully, straining to sound strong. "Not so tough now, are you, Evil Henchman Number One?"

Sera lifted her eyebrow at Steven. "Care to share?"

"He was with Everett when they grabbed me in Vegas. Two Shadowhunters to take down a blind guy. Must be embarrassing." He stuck his tongue out in Jay Ravenkey's general direction as the man heaved again. "Consul's lapdog sounds like he needs a barf bag – what the hell happened?"

"Consul's lapdog," Rayce murmured thoughtfully. "Then that means the bastard is probably still here." He took off running before Sera could catch the edge of his cloak, and he _shifted_ ahead in his haste to catch Everett while he was cornered.

Everett lowered his fist and exhaled slowly in delight as he opened his eyes. He looked down in satisfaction at the Tracking rune emblazoned across the back of his left hand and then uncurled his fingers slowly to reveal that warlock bitch's hair in the light of the lone desk lamp.

 _What could you possibly be up to on Wrangel Island?_ The messages he had received from the Blackthorn girl and the much more strongly-worded warnings from her Penhallow consort suddenly made much more sense. _Working together to try to screw me over, girls?_

"Cartwright!" He barked at the closed door of his office, summoning the man outside.

"Yes, Consul?" Jon answered coolly.

"I want you to pull together a team, at least a dozen, to go to Wrangel Island." Everett braced his hands on the desk, casually letting the warlock's hair fall before Cartwright could notice and ask unnecessary questions.

"Now, sir?"

"Yes, Cartwright, now!" Everett snapped irritably. "I want you to arrest the Blackthorn and Penhallow girls immediately, and anyone else they may be harbouring on that frozen rock. At the very least, they have a warlock, so exercise extreme caution. I want any Shadowhunters alive, but don't hesitate to use deadly force with the warlock if she gives you any trouble."

"But Consul, the Accords..." he said slowly.

"Exist to protect law-abiding Downworlders," Everett finished for him. "Use the Portal as soon as your team is ready – I want you gone within the hour."

"Sir, there are so few Shadowhunters left in the city now-"

"I don't care where you find them, just find them!" The Consul slapped his palm down against the blotter on the desk. "Go!"

Jon touched his forehead in a brief salute and left the Consul's office with his heart pounding in his chest. _What's going on?_ He knew that Ravenkey and a few others were still lurking around, but he had a sneaking suspicion that they were firmly in Everett's pocket. He'd need to find his own allies for this.

He hurried down the steps of the Gard into the light rain that was falling outside. Night was coming on fast, and he would need to get back before full dark if he was going to get to the Portal within the hour. Whatever had Whitelock riled up was bad news, he was certain of it. He lit a cigarette and took a long drag.

 _This doesn't feel right._

Everett was just signing the warrant for the arrests of Helen Blackthorn and Aline Penhallow with the pleasant sound of heavier rain drumming against the window behind him when the shrill screech of an alarm rune echoed through the hall outside his office. His pen skidded across the page, ruining it as he jumped at the sudden break in the silence of the Gard.

His eyes widened. _How?_ He briefly wondered if he had been betrayed from within, but only a handful of people knew she was down there, and he trusted all of them. _This isn't possible!_ He pushed back from the desk and ran to the door, wrenching it open with unnecessary force.

Jay Ravenkey blew past him with two more Shadowhunters hard on his heels and Everett allowed himself to relax a bit. _They're already taking care of it._ Once she was safely in hand again, he would be _very_ curious to find out how that cell door had been opened from the outside. He closed the office door again and sat back down at his desk to reach underneath and reassure himself of the presence of the Mortal Sword. He would get the answers he needed.

He started to rewrite the warrant calmly as the alarm continued to sound. It would only last a few minutes, and then he would be able to continue enjoying the quiet until Jay came to give the all-clear. Sure enough, the alarm cut short just as he was about to sign the new order.

The office door burst inward and Everett only had time to look up and see strange, swirling black wisps in the doorway before he heard his desk lamp shatter, plunging the room into darkness. The door slammed shut and he heard the bolt shoot home.

"Good evening, Consul," a low voice greeted him from the deeper shadows near the door. Everett pushed his chair back and reached down in one swift motion for the closest weapon, Maellartach, but strong hands wrenched him backwards. _Two intruders!_

With a powerful kick, Rayce sent the Consul and his chair crashing into the wood panelling that had concealed Cinder Ravenscar on Rayce's last visit to this office. The heavy chair came down on top of Everett and he had to shrug it off to get back up to his hands and knees. He whipped his head back to search for his attacker, desperately willing his eyes to adjust and wishing for a _nyx_ rune.

The first flash of lightning from the storm that was breaking over the city briefly illuminated the room and Everett saw a tall, dark shape advancing on him before everything went dark again. He gasped as he was lifted up by the front of his suit jacket and rammed against the wall, hitting the back of his skull hard enough to see stars.

A second, longer lightning strike revealed the face of the Morgenstern boy who had been Lightwood's downfall and Everett felt truly afraid for the first time since the alarm rune had gone off. He kicked out at Rayce, but the half-Faerie twisted and threw Everett across the office, sending him skidding across the hardwood floor. A moment later, Rayce took hold of the arm of the fallen chair and hurled it after the Consul. It struck him hard in the lower back and Rayce heard a devastating crack as the chair broke apart.

Everett screamed in pain and his legs went limp. Rayce watched without pity as the terrified man struggled to pull himself up to his elbows, dragging his now-useless legs behind him. He shot a glassy-eyed look of shock back at the darkness that concealed Rayce, but he was already gone, _shifting_ so that he was standing over the Consul once more.

Whimpering and crying in fear, Everett mindlessly turned himself away from the black boots and started to pull himself toward the office door. Rayce was filled with a savage pleasure at the sight of the helpless Consul. Seeing Alec Lightwood and his tiny band of rebels trying to fight off dragon demons in the hills of California against all the odds had made Rayce feel proud to call himself a Shadowhunter, and he knew in his heart that the Clave needed their former Consul. The coward at his feet was nothing but poison.

"Then kill him," Sebastian said casually from where he was leaning against the rain-streaked window behind the Consul's desk. "The Angel knows he deserves it."

 _No killing,_ Sera's voice echoed again.

"She would want me to," Rayce answered, trying to convince himself while watching Everett's slow, quiet progress toward the door.

"Then just do it. You're a killer, just like me, Rayce." Lightning flashed again, showing Sebastian in traditional black Shadowhunter gear that was identical to what Rayce might have been wearing if not for the cloak around his shoulders. "Try to deny it all you want, but the heart that beats in your chest is Morgenstern through and through. Do the hard things that need to be done; that's what we do."

Rayce shook his head doubtfully, and looked away from the weeping Consul to cast an accusatory stare at his father. "Why do you keep showing up? You're dead!"

Sebastian sighed melodramatically and pushed away from the window to flop down on the Consul's desk. "You are so _boring!_ It's always, _'You're not real,'_ or _'You're dead,'_ with you. You should really just take my advice. It's about what you _want_ , son."

"I don't want to be like you," Rayce answered immediately. "None of this would have happened if it wasn't for you."

"Ooh, ouch," Sebastian laughed, clutching at his chest. "Are you trying to blame _me_ for all of this? Do you realize what else wouldn't have happened without me? _You._ "

"Maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing," Rayce answered softly.

"Oh, Raziel save me from late-breaking teenage angst." Sebastian rolled his eyes and folded his hands behind his head. "Need I remind you that this guy hit your beautiful Sera? Probably tortured her, too, but I'm just guessing..."

Rayce heard the scrabbling of Everett's nails on the door as he tried to pull himself up. In the blink of an eye, Rayce was there to pull him back by the collar of his dress shirt. The older Shadowhunter screamed and sobbed almost unintelligibly for mercy, and Rayce felt a flare of anger as he envisioned Sera crying in the cell where he had found her.

With a snarl, Rayce hurled the Consul over the desk where Sebastian was reclining. Glass shattered as Everett smashed through the window panes and rolled out onto the Consul's private balcony. The volume of the rain rose as the office was opened to the storm, and a gust of wind rushed through to scatter papers across the floor. Witchlight from the demon towers provided a dim glow to illuminate the crying Consul. His face and arms were bleeding from numerous cuts, and the sharp edges of the broken glass around him made it almost impossible for him to continue to drag himself away from Rayce unless he was willing to crawl through the shards.

"Nice throw," Sebastian congratulated him. "A solid 9, maybe 9.2 if I give you style points for not hitting me." He sat up eagerly, swinging his legs over the desk to hop down and duck through the broken panes. He whistled appreciatively. " _Very_ nice. Come see!"

Drawn forward inexorably by his father, Rayce stepped out into the rain and saw the pink streaks on the stone around Everett as lightning crackled across the sky again.

"Now all you have to do is finish him," his father called over the wind and rain. "He deserves it, Sera deserves it, and most of all, _you_ deserve it."

 _No killing._ The whisper was fainter now that Everett was helpless and bloodied. It wasn't that much more of a leap to kill him now.

"Practically a mercy killing at this point," Sebastian agreed with his unspoken thought. Rayce looked up at him in confusion.

"How do you always know what I'm thinking?"

Sebastian's smile faltered and he wagged his finger at Rayce. "Careful now, I don't think you'd like the answer to that question. Stop wasting time and _kill him._ "

Rayce's heart sank. The rain stung his eyes and he blinked furiously to clear them. He could almost swear that his father flickered in and out of view as he did so. "Not until you answer me."

"Rayce!" Sera's muffled voice called from the other side of the locked office door, almost lost in the storm.

"Sera," he whispered.

"Look at him!" Sebastian yelled, jabbing a finger down to point at where the Consul had given up and was laying nearly insensate on his back, his white dress shirted spotted with pink and streaked with red where he had been slashed by the glass. "She doesn't have to see this! Just kill him! Get _revenge_ for what he did to her!"

"I WANT TO!" Rayce screamed back at him, covering his ears as he sank down to his knees, heedless of the glass. "But I don't want to be like you!"

Sebastian roared in frustration. "Can't you _see?_ You _are_ me, and I am _you._ "

Rayce held his head in his hands as the rain soaked through his cloak and chilled his bare skin underneath as he rocked back and forth, paralyzed by indecision. Alec's words came back to him from the night he had fallen victim to the cloak. _Your father would never have sacrificed himself to save his family, Rayce. Don't let his shadow fall across your life. You're your own man. It's not your name that defines you; it's your deeds._

"Your name _does_ define you," his father hissed. "The mere _mention_ of a Morgenstern is still enough to make some Shadowhunters tremble. They're always going to fear you – give them a _reason_ to! Own it!"

Rayce knotted his fingers in his hair and screamed wordlessly as he warred with himself. _Just kill him and it'll be over!_

His sister's voice drowned out Sebastian's in his memory. _Take my advice brother: Do what you must to survive until it's your turn to be saved. But make certain that there's still a part of you that's worth saving. Remember that she's out there counting on you to still be you if she breaks the cloak's hold._

His black and green eyes snapped open and his breathing slowed.

"I'm still me," he told his father in a shaking voice. "And you're still you."

Sebastian looked down at him with glittering black and green eyes and Rayce's mouth sagged open as he finally understood. With that understanding, Sebastian faded away into the night one last time.

 _It was me the whole time. All of the darkness, all of the evil thoughts; they were mine. I just couldn't admit it. So I put my father's face on them and pretended that I would never think like that. But I do._ His fingers relaxed and he ran his hands back through his wet hair. _The difference is that I don't want to be like him. I can be more. I can do more._

The office door crashed open again as Sera's furious Opening rune disintegrated the lock and she staggered through with Steven's arms still draped around her neck. She lifted his wrists gently and let him slide down appreciatively to the floor just inside the wrecked office. Pieces of the desk chair and papers were strewn across the floor, and the curtains to the sides of the wide window behind the desk blew crazily in the wind. Outside, she could see Everett's bloodied, still form and Rayce kneeling over him with his eyes closed, his face peaceful.

"Oh, no, Rayce," she breathed, rushing out through the window to the balcony where she fell to her knees and wrapped her arms around him. "It's okay," she whispered in his ear, holding him tighter.

"It really is," he said in a daze. He reached up to fold his arms around her and he buried his face in her neck as the rain poured down. "It really, really is."

Everett coughed weakly and Sera almost jumped out of her skin. "Jesus Christ, he's alive?"

Rayce pulled away and looked up at her pleadingly. "I couldn't do it, Sera. The Angel knows I wanted to, but I..."

She pressed a finger to his mouth to stop him and then promptly replaced it with her lips, kissing him softly at first and then more urgently as his lips parted. When she was too breathless to wait any longer she turned her head down and pulled him close again, hugging him tightly.

"Still my Rayce," she said gratefully. "My Rayce." She had no idea how she was ever going to let him out of her arms, but her dream had shown her that this was far from over.

Together, they managed to lift Everett and bring him back inside out of the rain. He had lost consciousness, possibly due to blood loss, and Sera grudgingly pressed an _iratze_ and an _amissio_ into his wrist. It would probably still count as killing him if they let him bleed out under their watch.

Steven couldn't be healed as easily, and Sera was genuinely worried about him. Getting him up the stairs to the Consul's office had been a real struggle, and he still couldn't stand unassisted. He rested quietly against the wall as she fixed up Everett, but he turned towards her when he heard her approach.

"Hey, Sera?" He asked faintly.

"What's up, Steven?"

"Is Rayce taller than me?"

Sera couldn't help the confused smile that slipped across her face. "Yeah."

Steven nodded knowingly. "Pretty dangerous?"

She arched her eyebrow at Rayce. "Very."

"I see," the mostly-Mundane said quietly, laughing under his breath at his own pun. He fell silent.

Sera exchanged a bewildered glance with her prince and he shrugged back at her, just as confused as she was.

Steven lifted his still-chained hands and held them up apologetically. "I've given it some thought, Sera, and I'm really sorry, but I think I'm going to have to cancel our date. I just don't think it'll work out between us."

Sera burst out laughing and threw her arms around him. "Oh my God, Steven, you're too much."

Rayce hid his smile and then felt it fade entirely as he realized that his little breath of freedom from the Hunt would have to come to an end soon. Staying would only make it harder on both of them.

"I can't stay, Sera," he whispered, extending a hand to help her up. "This can't last forever."

She grabbed onto his cloak and tightened her fists, pulling him toward her with a very serious face. "It doesn't have to last forever," she said fiercely. "It just has to last a little longer."

He smiled gently and tried to pull away, misunderstanding, but she refused to let go and tilted her head up to kiss him again.

"I think I know how to free you."

 _**Author's note: Just giving you guys a heads up that the next post might take a bit longer (WHAT? SEB! NO! YOU ALREADY TAKE FOREVER!). I know, I know. But to properly curate the full emotional experience that I'm going to craft for the final two chapters, I need them to land together. Rest assured that the next time you see my update, you'll be getting the epic conclusion of EotC (WITHOUT THE TERRIBLE CLIFFHANGERS FOR WHICH I SHOULD BE SHOT)._

 _Truly, I view this last step as calling upon the entire orchestra to give life to the final movement of my symphony. Each chapter has given you only sections at a time with featured soloists, but now it's time for me raise them all and give you the fireworks that go along with the music._

 _I will also be including a Thanks and Acknowledgements section to recognize you, the readers, for your time and dedication to the adventure. I'm a long-winded bastard, and these are full-length books, so I know that it's no small sacrifice of time that has brought you this far. Please feel free to comment or PM your username so that I can give you a nod, and hopefully connect you with other wonderful, active readers who have laughed and cried with you not only through my books, but through Cassie's as well. We have a wonderful fandom, and I'm proud to be a part of it._


	19. Chapter 19

**19**

A gust of snow sheeted into Sera's face as her Portal opened just outside the cabin on Wrangel Island, slicing through the same patch of ice where she had come through last time. Rayce ducked through after her with Steven in his arms. Light was shining cheerfully through the tiny window in the darkness, and Sera prayed that everyone was inside instead of scattered across the island. She was going to need all of them if her suspicions were correct.

She knocked heavily on the door and it opened a few moments later. Hunter Lightwood's bewildered expression brightened immediately when he saw her, and he stepped aside to let her in, cozy slippers looking right at home alongside his pajamas. When he caught sight of Rayce, though, his mouth fell open. The half-Faerie's broad chest was still bare under the cloak, and his face was grim with worry for the Mundane in his arms.

"Sera!" Aspen called excitedly, throwing aside the book she had been reading on the loveseat. "And... oh, my Lord." Her eyes travelled up Rayce's body, taking in the scarred sword at his side and the double-bladed staff slung across his back, until she met his frightening split-coloured eyes, and then her mouth fell open, too. "Is that... Rayce?"

Sera grinned proudly. "Yep." She shot a glance at her prince. "Rayce, I'd like you to meet your cousin, Aspen Herondale."

A look of wonder crossed his face at her words. Clary, Seraphine, Helen, and Aline rose from the kitchen table guardedly, uncertain of how he might react to any sudden movements.

"Ah, crap," Aspen muttered. "Cousins."

Clary slowly covered her mouth with one hand when she saw him, and tears brimmed in her eyes to see a man who looked so much like her brother following a very different path.

"And this is your aunt, Clary Herondale," Sera continued softly, ignoring Aspen's teenage crush. She reached out to take Steven from Rayce, cradling her friend gently as his head lolled sideways. He had lost consciousness just after she had embraced him in the Consul's office, but part of her was glad that he wasn't in pain right now.

The side of Rayce's mouth started to curl upward as he failed to contain the rising warmth that was spreading through his chest. _My Shadowhunter family._

Touching two fingers lightly to her lips, Helen bowed her head slightly to Rayce. "And your niece," she whispered. She glided forward until she could look up into his face, her blue-green eyes wide. Her hand drifted up to brush the slightly-pointed tips of his ears wistfully. "You remind me so much of Mark." His green and black eyes held no horror for her.

Rayce gathered up her hands with his own. "I owe Mark Blackthorn a debt," he told her earnestly. "I did not intend to draw him back into our world from his peaceful life, but he is a true warrior. He answered the horn's call and saved many lives with his courage, my own included." His thoughts drifted back to the worn witchlight in his cloak. "Your brother is a good man."

The door to the bedroom opened and Tessa came out in a heavy nightgown, rubbing sleep from her eyes. "What's going-" She blinked when she registered that there were a few more people in the living room than when she had gone to sleep. Jem appeared behind her and Sera felt her stomach flip-flop.

"Jem," she sighed with relief. "I need you to help him." She hefted Steven a bit in her arms and the former Silent Brother's face transformed.

"Bring him in here," he answered, beckoning for her to lay him on the bed. Grateful that Steven was going to get some form of medical attention, she squeezed past a confused Tessa and bent down to slip him into the still-warm bed, the chains on his wrists clanking faintly as she stepped away. Almost as an afterthought, she touched the manacles to apply an Opening rune, and they fell away, no longer necessary to help him hang on to her or Rayce.

While Rayce continued to speak quietly with Seraphine and his new-found family in the main room, presumably explaining how they had ended up here, Sera gave Jem a quick summary of Steven's condition. He nodded thoughtfully through it and squeezed her shoulder reassuringly.

"Leave him with me for a bit, I'll see what I can learn."

She hugged him impulsively. There was just something about his quiet, steady calm that made her feel like everything was going to be okay. "Thank you," she whispered sincerely.

Carefully closing the door behind her so that Jem could examine Steven in privacy, she found eight pairs of eyes staring at her. Taken aback by the scrutiny, she raised her eyebrows. "What?"

"You don't get to say _'what'_ like that," Seraphine scolded her even as she rushed forward to wrap her arms around the Shadowhunter's waist. "Rayce says you think you know how to free him from the Hunt, that's what."

Sera took a deep breath. "I think it's going to end up being a lot more than that," she confessed.

Without pausing to worry about how crazy she might sound, she recounted her journey down into the Unseelie Court and the cryptic final words of the King.

"You did what?" Seraphine choked when Sera got to the part about how she had compelled the King to tell her what she needed to know. "Is he dead?"

Sera nodded, squashing her guilt. The past couldn't be changed. But the future could. "Cassius struck the final blow and took the body somewhere where it will never be found – even I don't know where."

"He'd better be dead," Seraphine muttered. "The last thing you need is to have the King of the Unseelie Court coming after you for revenge."

"It's fine," Sera reassured her. "He's definitely dead."

She went on to relate the details of the dream she had had in her cell under the Gard, fitting all the pieces together until she had painted a very shaky picture of what she intended to do.

"It has to be here," she said confidently. "The circles of runes, seraphic and demonic, are the 'maw of Hell' and 'Heaven's gates' of which the King spoke. They represent points where Heaven and Hell are touching Earth."

Her golden eyes gleamed in the pale yellow light. "Once we take control of them, then it'll be time to 'gamble all', just like the next part of the King's rhyme said." She clenched her fist and slapped it into her open palm. "And believe me, Lady Luck is one hell of a gambler when she needs to be."

Seraphine's eyes were filled with pity when she looked at her friend. "Sera," she said hesitantly, trying to let her down gently. "We can't touch that demonic ellipse. It's locked up good and tight."

"Unless you have the mixed blood of Lilith and Sammael, right?"

The warlock nodded. "Exactly."

"Good thing we've got him, then," Sera said, jerking a thumb at Rayce. He looked back at her questioningly, but with trust in his eyes.

Hunter raised his hand. "Um, I'm lost."

"Rayce is the son of the Seelie Queen and Sebastian Morgenstern," Sera explained patiently.

"Yeah, I knew that-" Hunter cut in, only to be cut off in turn by Sera.

"But the Seelie Queen is a daughter of Sammael. Her true name was Sammaradriel, a tribute to the blending of her demonic and angelic heritage." Sera slipped her hand into Rayce's. "And Sebastian Morgenstern carried the blood of Lilith in his veins."

Five Shadowhunters and two warlocks all wore identical expressions of open-mouthed shock. Seraphine was the first to recover.

"What were the odds..." she started to ask, trailing off as the enormity of the opportunity caught up with her.

"Zeke told me once that he believed there was a reason I was supposed to find Rayce," Sera said, her voice wavering for a moment with emotion. "I think it might have all been leading up to this."

Seraphine shook her head in amazement, her mind already racing ahead. "It'll work," she agreed. "I can take control of the ellipse if Rayce opens it. From there, I'll need to start undoing the glyphs one by one until they're all erased."

"That's one of the things I was counting on," Sera said, closing her eyes as gratitude threatened to overwhelm her. She didn't know what she had done to deserve a friend like Seraphine, but she damn well knew what they were going to do next.

"So you open the ellipse," Clary said thoughtfully, tapping a finger on her chin while she tried to envision the scene. "That gets you your gateway to Hell. What about-" She gasped in understanding as the pieces clicked into place. "You're going to use your own blood on the ring of runes that represents Heaven?" Her green eyes widened. "You could bring down an angel doing that! And they get supremely pissed if you bug them. I've seen it."

Cassius' gleeful voice floated through Sera's memory again and she subconsciously squeezed Rayce's hand for courage. _'I think he called upon his father for help,'_ the Faerie had speculated.

Sera touched her chest just over her heart and thought about the blood that pumped through it. "I think there's one angel who might be happy to see me," she said softly.

Everyone fell silent, and they could hear the harsh wind outside whistling past the cabin. The fire cracked and popped in the wood stove and the air seemed to hum with quiet anticipation.

"Is this really happening?" Aline asked in a husky voice, breaking the quiet. "Are we really going to do this? Fix the wards for good?"

"We're damn well gonna try," Sera answered.

"If I'm going to reactivate that ellipse," Rayce added warily, "I think we might want to consider having some back-up available." He gave Sera a worried look. "If the demons catch wind of what we're doing..."

Sera nodded in agreement and then laughed out loud. "I know a guy who loves being back-up!"

A few minutes later, Aline had scribbled a quick note and then set the tip of her stele to the bottom corner with a satisfied smile. "That will get them back here in a hurry," she smirked.

"Even with Jace and the others to help us, it might be safer to wait until morning to try anything," Rayce pointed out. The clock on the stove showed that it was nearly midnight. "That will also give us more time to strategize any possible defenses."

Aspen stared at him with her mouth gaping open. "Dad is either going to love you or hate you if you keep talking like that." She hugged one of the loveseat pillows to her chest. "I'm just going to love you, okay?"

He smiled back helplessly, not knowing what to say, but that may have been the wrong thing to do. Aspen sighed happily and rolled sideways into her parabatai.

"Oh, my God, Aspen," Hunter said, rolling his eyes and yanking the pillow out of her grasp. " _Cousin_. Do you hear me? _Cousin._ "

The bedroom door cracked open and Jem emerged with a warm smile. "I think your friend will make a full recovery," he announced happily.

Sera's heart leaped into her throat. "Is he awake? Can I talk to him?" She felt a load of guilt drop off her shoulders. It would have crushed her if he had been dragged into her world and not been able to escape unscathed.

"I was able to wake him to do a better examination, but I hypnotized him back into a deep sleep so that he can heal properly. I'm not what I once was," Jem added with a touch of regret in his voice, "but I can still do that much."

"What happened to him?" Sera asked.

Jem frowned before responding. "I suspect that he suffered some form of trauma that likely caused some mild mononeuropathy of his femoral nerve." He paused when he saw the blank look on her face, then hastily added, "Steven just needs a bit of time to get back on his feet."

Seraphine chewed on her lip. "If I was better with healing magic, I might have taken a stab at it."

"You'll need your strength for tomorrow," Sera assured her. "And I don't think it's a good thing for Steven to meet you until he's recovered. He had an anime addiction before his accident, and I think if he finds out that you have a cat tail and ears, he might just die."

The aforementioned cat ears twitched irritably. "One of _those_ guys?"

"Mmhmm."

Blue light flashed outside in the darkness and Clary shot up from her seat at the kitchen table much faster than she had the first time. _Jace!_

A very battered stream of Shadowhunters poured through the door with Jace at the head, and he charged forward to sweep Clary into his arms, whispering in her ear too quietly for anyone else to hear over the din. Chaos reigned as Isabelle practically fell on her son and Aspen on the loveseat, clutching him to her chest alarmingly as Simon tried to find a way to wedge himself into the hug. Max shuffled in with Rafael supporting him, and they collapsed on the couch with happy sighs.

Diego led more than a dozen Centurions into the cabin. They crowded in and squeezed into a bit of free space in the back of the kitchen, near the pantry, while others squashed in around the wood stove. Carolina and Marcos Monteverde only had three of their Buenos Aires fighters left, but they gamely fit themselves in near the storage cupboard that Sera had previously raided for her Rayce-disguise. The cabin was uncomfortably over capacity with the new influx of guests.

Alec and Magnus brought up the rear of the party, and when Magnus saw the state of the tiny home, he threw up his hands. "This is ridiculous. Everyone stand up." A small flurry of shuffling ensued while the couches and kitchen chairs cleared, and then Magnus snapped his fingers. The furniture vanished and there was more room to breathe.

"Oy!" Aline protested.

"You'll get it back, pumpkin," Magnus promised. "It's just a bit of an inconvenience right now."

"I'll _inconvenience_ you if it doesn't come back exactly the way it was," she growled.

"You're just full of threats tonight, aren't you, Aline?" Jace jabbed at her around Clary's back. "Were we fast enough for you?"

"Cut it out back there," Alec called over the gathered Shadowhunters. "The message said this was the most important night in Shadowhunter history, and I'm anxious to hear what's going on." He spotted Sera and Rayce somewhere near the middle of the room and felt a flash of foreboding.

Blue light flickered through the window behind his head and he turned to look at his husband in confusion.

"It wasn't me," Magnus said, holding up his hands.

Alec craned his neck to try to see out the window, but the door flew open again, crashing into Magnus and sending him bowling forward into some of the Centurions. Alec was pretty sure that some people at the back had been squeezed into the washroom by now.

More Nephilim warriors in heavy gear and goggles tried to race inside to secure the area, but they didn't get more than four feet over the threshold before they ran out of room. The Shadowhunters in the rear of the attack team didn't even make it inside.

"What the..." The leader of the new group raised his goggles in confusion.

"Jon?" Alec said wonderingly.

"I didn't think I'd find you here, sir," the man responded, dumbfounded by the incredible number of Nephilim in the cabin. He was unconsciously counting as he noted faces, and he was particularly shocked to see Executor Rosales among those gathered.

"Is that Cartwright's voice I hear?" Jace called from the kitchen. "What the hell are you doing up here?"

Jon pushed his goggles off completely and scrubbed a hand back through his hair. "Honestly, I was supposed to, and I quote, _'Arrest the Blackthorn and Penhallow girls immediately, and anyone else they may be harbouring on that frozen rock'_."

"Ha!" Simon yelled from the bathroom, his voice a bit muffled from possibly be squashed up against a wall with his wife, son, and nephews. "Looks like you're outnumbered, Cartwright!"

"Ooooooh!" One of the Clave Shadowhunters squealed in delight. "Simon, is that you?" Marisol tugged her goggles down to hang around her neck and clapped her hands together excitedly.

The bathroom stayed quiet for a moment, then a voice drifted out faintly, twinged with defeat. "Um... No?"

"It _is_ you! I'm so excited, Simon! Everything's happening just like you said it would! I was _so_ ready when Jon called! Like, everyone is so ready right now. Let's kick some demon butt!"

The chilly northern wind was still blowing in through the open door, which may have been fine for the new arrivals from the Clave who had been prepared for a trip to Wrangel Island, but Aspen's teeth were chattering together and Clary was puffing energetically on her hands as Jace rubbed her arms.

Magnus had recovered his dignity from falling face-first into a wall of Centurions, and he pushed up the sleeves of the deep-purple dress shirt he was wearing. "Alright. Enough is enough." His hands wove in a smooth, complicated gesture and he muttered quietly to himself as a golden light bloomed and then spread outward, passing through the open front door to encompass the area in front of the cabin that had been trampled flat over the last ten minutes. The remaining crates from the Adamant Citadel had been unceremoniously dumped in the snow just next to the clean lines that showed where three separate Portal had cut into the ice.

A brilliant sphere of shining light ballooned upward outside and the wind cut off abruptly. The temperature of the cabin readjusted from 'freezing' to 'mostly-okay' and Magnus pulled the door open more fully. "Anyone not related by blood or marriage, please wait outside while we get things sorted. We're thrilled that you're here, and we appreciate your commitment to the cause, but this is a bit much."

The Clave Shadowhunters who hadn't even made it inside started to back away into the bubble of warmth Magnus had conjured, and some resigned Centurions trooped out to join them with the Argentines trailing in their wake. Jon started to leave, but Magnus hooked one manicured finger into the back of his collar. "Not you. You stay. You've got some explaining to do."

Once there was more breathing room, Simon and Isabelle were able to squeeze out of the bathroom with Hunter, Rafe, and Max. Marisol's triumphant smile made Simon freeze and point a shaking finger in her direction.

"Wait! She's not supposed to stay." He looked at his brother-in-law pleadingly. "Please, Magnus?"

Marisol threw up her hands. "We're all Shadowhunters! We're all connected by Raziel's blood! I'm allowed to- Hey, hey!" She was pushed out through the front door as if by an invisible hand, and her cries of protest were cut short once she was over the threshold.

Magnus shook his head. "I don't know what you did to make her obsess over you like this, Simon, but I hope Raziel takes pity on your soul."

Simon clapped a grateful hand over Magnus' shoulder. "It's honestly good enough that you took pity on me. It's for the greater good."

"Speaking of the greater good," Alec cut in, "what's going on?"

Sera felt butterflies in her stomach, but squashed them as she explained her plan to the true Consul while the other newcomers listened in rapt silence. Even Jace was left speechless when she came to the part where they may have a chance to finally undo the damage to the world's wards caused by Lilith and Sammael a thousand years ago.

Alec's deep blue eyes watched her carefully as she spoke, weighing every word, and when she was finished, he felt overwhelmed by the enormity of what she was proposing. In his capacity as Consul, whether he still held the position or not in truth, he felt duty-bound to properly evaluate the risks of what they could be doing.

"Goddamn," Jon Cartwright whispered quietly, breaking the silence. "I knew I made the right choice."

"I'm sorry, what choice was that?" Jace said scathingly from where the kitchen table should have been. "To somehow manage to arrest more than thirty of the best Shadowhunters the Clave has ever seen?"

Jon held up his hands. "No, to come and see for myself what the hell was going on." He reached into his jacket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, eliciting an angry noise of protest from Aline before he managed to slide out a wad of folded paper scraps hidden inside. He handed them to Alec, and the Consul flicked through them quickly, immediately recognizing every message.

Alec's eyebrows shot up. "How did you get these?" The were identical to the missives he had been receiving from Helen and Aline about the breaches.

"Cinder went dumpster-diving for me after a bit of convincing. She stayed on to continue as private security for the new Consul, so she knew that messages were pouring in from somewhere and Everett was ignoring them. When she told me, I knew something was up."

Jace closed his eyes. "Rosales said the override instructions he got from Alicante had Cinder's validation code." He rubbed his eyes tiredly for a moment before looking back at Cartwright. "You guys were in on it together?"

Jon nodded. "We saw the messages about Cairo and Buenos Aires, and then they got hit so hard… with no warning. After that, there were dozens and dozens of messages from Centurions saying they had been dispatched on wild goose chases, and none of them were answered." He scratched at the stubble on his neck. "Hell, some of them are probably still standing in the middle of nowhere waiting for orders that aren't coming."

"And so tonight…?" Alec prompted him.

"Everett's been up to something for the last few days," Jon answered quickly. "Vanished to Vegas, then slipped away to the Silent City without telling anyone. He's had those weirdo warlock brothers working on something secret under the Gard." He threw a nervous glance at Magnus and then one to Seraphine. "No offense."

Magnus waved him off. "Kai and Kaden _are_ weirdos. Continue."

" _I_ know what they were working on," Sera muttered under her breath, too low for anyone but Rayce to hear.

"So tonight he gets angry, really angry, about something, and sends me off with orders to get up here and drag them," he pointed to Helen and Aline, "back to Alicante for questioning." He exhaled slowly. "There aren't many of us left in Alicante, sir, so I had to make a few calls to find some people who were at least willing to listen."

"But Jon," Simon agonized. " _Marisol?_ How could you?"

"Say what you want, Si." Jon shook his head in amazement. "You'll want her in a fight. If anything shows up to interrupt this crazy plan tomorrow, she'll tear it up six ways from Sunday. And it's not exactly like I expected you to be here."

"Speaking of the crazy plan," Jace interjected, "which I happen to support, by the way - Alec, I can see you thinking so hard over there that your brain is going to melt or something."

"I _am_ thinking, Jace," Alec responded distractedly. "Try it some time."

Jace clapped his hand over his heart dramatically. " _Et tu, Brute?_ What's there to think about? Alec, _permanently fix the wards._ " He shook his hands for emphasis. "We're talking about early retirement here. Freedom forty-three!" His golden eyes were shining with excitement. "We're literally going to save the world this time. For real."

"I'm more concerned about what happens if things go wrong, or if Sera's predictions aren't correct." He shot an apologetic look at the young Shadowhunter still holding Rayce's hand. "I'm sorry, Sera. I trust you, but we need to make sure that we've thought this through before we try anything."

"I understand," she answered in a voice that shook slightly, feeling a bit of her hope crumple up inside.

"No, Alec," Jace said firmly. "This is right. Can't you feel it?"

"Yes, I can," Alec snapped back. "And of course I want her to be right. But, as Rayce wisely pointed out, if any demons realize what we're trying to do, what then?"

"Then we'll kill them!"

"We aren't indestructible, Jace!" Alec was practically shouting now, and the other Nephilim gathered shifted uncomfortably at what was rapidly beginning to feel like an intimate exchange. "Sera's talking about opening paths between Heaven and Hell, and we're all that's going to be standing there to guard it! If we die, and those circles are open, what then? What if demons manage to cause even more damage than there already was?"

"Shadowhunters die all the time, Alec! You know it, I know it, and everyone in this room knows it." He moved forward until they were face to face and then poked his finger at Alec's chest. "And you also know damn well that everyone in this room would lay down their lives for a chance to fix this."

Alec reached up and closed his hands around his parabatai's accusatory finger and bowed his head under the weight of the decision he needed to make. "We aren't just gambling with our own lives any more, Jace. We're risking everyone's. You've said it yourself – you think there's some enemy commander behind all these attacks, that there's some hidden meaning behind them." He took a deep breath, and begged his best friend to understand. "What happens if we do this and that's when he strikes? Every time we've thought that we were a step ahead, we've realized that we were two steps behind."

Jace's shoulders relaxed and he took his hand back slowly, feeling guilty about being an idiot. _This is why I need you, Alec,_ he thought gratefully _. You've always thought that you got the better end of this bond, but I know that it's always been the other way around._

"Then we'll just have to be ready for him." Jace lifted his eyebrow at Alec significantly, sharing a thought that only the two of them could understand, and Alec nodded in agreement.

"We need to start figuring this out."

Clary's sketches of the ritual site were pulled out and laid in the centre of the floor so that the Nephilim could get an idea of what to expect. As many as could fit had gathered around to listen as Helen and Aline gave details about the topography of the island in that area when a gentle rumbling set the wall sconces vibrating in their settings.

Every Shadowhunter's head snapped up in response to the disturbance.

"Is that normal?" Simon asked nervously.

"No," Aline answered. "No, it certainly is not."

Without further warning, the entire island began to heave violently, sending Nephilim staggering into each other. Mismatched mugs and glasses chattered forward out of their open-face cupboards and smashed on the wood floor. The lone bookcase that had survived Magnus' furniture purge tipped forward and would have fallen on Helen if Rayce hadn't _shifted_ just in time to catch it. The books cascaded down into a heap that spilled across Clary's drawings.

It only lasted a few moments, but every Nephilim was on their feet and standing in ready stances as they waited in silence for any aftershocks.

"The wards," Helen whispered in horror. She flew to the door, snatching her coat off its hook and just barely managing to jump into her thick boots before dashing outside with a heavy-duty flashlight in her hand.

"The wards?" Simon yelled after her. "That was the _wards_?"

Aline was a dark flash as she followed her wife out into the night without a second thought, shrugging into her jacket smoothly as she clomped out the door.

Worried Shadowhunters murmured quietly in small groups as they waited for the couple to return. Tessa knelt down in her nightgown to tenderly gather up the fallen books and replace them on the shelf while they waited.

Sera turned her golden eyes up to find Rayce's. "We might have to do this sooner than we thought. Are you sure you're ready?"

He lifted the hand that still held hers and turned it over to press a soft kiss to the backs of her fingers even as he held back half a grin. He just couldn't help himself around her. "I trust you, Sera."

She shoved him gently and laughed under her breath. "That's _such_ a Faerie answer."

Rayce drew her into his arms so that she was resting against his chest and he closed his eyes happily. _Even if it doesn't work, this is how I want to be remembered. I want to die as a Shadowhunter._ He breathed in the scent of her hair and sighed, tightening his hold. _But I have so much more to live for now if we can do this._

He opened his eyes to look over Sera's head at the Nephilim gathered here at the edge of the world on a hope and a prayer. _Some of them are only just beginning to live this life,_ he thought as his gaze rested on Aspen and Hunter for a moment. _And some have lived it for decades, even centuries._ Jem was conversing in a low voice with Magnus and Seraphine by the wood stove, all three of them born in another time. _Their paths have been so long, all to end up here. Tonight._

Jace and Alec had taken Tessa aside, and the three of them had their heads together in the back corner of the kitchen. Jace's expression was serious as he spoke too quietly for Rayce to overhear, and his parabatai looked conflicted about whatever was being discussed. The half-warlock listened attentively, and then threw a quick glance back over her shoulder at Jem when Jace paused for a response. A pained look crossed her face for just a moment before she turned back to the pair and nodded confidently.

Rayce let his eyes play over the others in the room once more as he held Sera closer. They had all been through so much, and still there was more to ask of them.

The front door banged open again, letting in more of the golden glow that lit the darkness outside. It spilled across the entryway and shone on the concerned faces of the Shadowhunters waiting outside for a verdict.

Helen's features were ashen and her blue-green eyes almost seemed glazed over in shock. Aline swept in behind her, the fire that burned inside her temporarily dampened by whatever they had found.

"The wards?" Alec prompted gently, afraid to hear the answer.

"Breaches," Helen breathed, looking lost. "Too many to count. They're everywhere."

Stunned silence followed the pronouncement until Simon couldn't stand it any longer. In a very quiet voice, he asked, "What does that mean for us?"

"That this could be the beginning of the end," Aline answered hoarsely.

"Not while we can help it," Alec cut in firmly. "We're out of time to talk. Raziel preserve and protect us, but we're going to have to do this now. If the wards can be healed, any demons trapped on this side will be cut off from their power in the Void. It's our best chance."

He turned to find Sera and Rayce still standing together in the centre of the room. "I want you two and Seraphine to do whatever it is that you need to do at the ritual site as soon as we get there – once everyone is in position, get that ellipse open and we'll find out what happens.

"Diego, I want you to take command of our fighters. Coordinate your Centurions with the Clave Shadowhunters. Izzy, Simon, Rafe, Clary, Jace, and myself will defend under your orders."

Jace opened his mouth and lifted an indignant finger. "You are _not_ putting him in charge of-"

But Alec cut him off with a significant look. "You might be a little too _busy_ to lead if your hunch is right, remember?" He watched with a tiny smidge of satisfaction as his parabatai lowered his hand reluctantly and offered no further protest.

"Max will cover the main group as much as possible." Alec looked at his son proudly and the boy's navy-hued face lit up with a smile at being given so much responsibility. "Magnus, I want you focused on protecting the circles once they're open – support Max where you can, but you need to keep them clear."

Magnus saluted his husband with a straight face. "Yes, sir!"

Alec's mind was spinning in a dizzying circle as he tried to keep track of everything that needed to be done. They could only do so much up here; the rest of the world still had to face whatever had shredded the delicate wards.

"Helen, Aline, I know it's asking a lot, but can you get the word out to anyone and everyone who will listen to what is happening?" He pulled the Lightwood family ring from the fourth finger of his right hand and gave it to Helen. "Mark the messages as coming from me. I can't wait for Everett to engage this time."

Even as Helen nodded, Sera cleared her throat. "Um, about that... Everett will kind of be sitting this one out." She felt herself wilt a little under the Consul's questioning look. "In the prison cells under the Gard," she clarified with a sinking feeling. "Where we left him."

Alec's mouth sagged open in disbelief as he stared at her and Rayce. "You... imprisoned... a sitting Consul?"

She shrugged uncomfortably. "Well, he was more of a slumped-over, passed-out Consul at the time, but I don't think he'll be getting into any more trouble for a while."

Alec closed his eyes and rubbed his temples for a moment before giving her a very stern look. "We'll discuss this later." Sera felt a flash of guilt boil through her stomach. _Are we actually going to get in trouble for that?_

Aspen saved her from further examination by tugging on her uncle's arm. "What about me and Hunter? We want to fight!"

"Yeah!" Hunter agreed enthusiastically. "Seraphine helped me finish the prototype for my super suit." He frowned for a second. "Well, more like super _jacket_ , but it's still awesome!" Hunter bounced through the bedroom door, presumably to retrieve said jacket.

"Super... what?" Alec sighed and plucked Aspen's fingers off his sleeve. "Never mind. Don't answer that." He looked into her eager eyes seriously. "I don't want either of you out there tonight."

He caught sight of his sister gratefully mouthing, ' _Thank you'_ , from across the room, but both teenagers immediately started protesting.

"That's not _fair!_ " Aspen huffed. "We're the _same_ age you guys were during the Dark War!"

"I said I didn't want you out there," Alec answered sharply. "So you can either agree to protect and help Helen and Aline here at the cabin, or if you won't follow orders, I can have Magnus send you to Catarina's until this is over."

Hunter crossed his arms over his chest petulantly. "You're putting us on Mundane babysitting duty?"

"Mundane... what Mundane?" Alec blinked in confusion.

Hunter jerked his thumb back through the bedroom door at Steven's sleeping form. "That one."

Alec covered his face with his hands.

"Long story," Sera said hurriedly.

"But I'm looking after him," Jem chimed in. "Tessa and I can remain here to watch over him and help Aline and Helen." He flicked a quick glance at Hunter and Aspen, an unspoken promise in his eyes to protect the kids.

A series of long screeches shrilled outside on the wind and there were shouts from the Shadowhunters inside Magnus' protective bubble.

"They're _here,_ " Aline hissed, peering out through the tiny window. "You have to go _now_!"

There was a flurry of activity as Nephilim poured outside into the area warmed by Magnus' magic, and then the man himself began busily summoning heavy coats, gloves, and hats to protect them against the cold.

"Macy's is absolutely going to cancel my account if they find out I'm _borrowing_ all of this from the new winter line," Magnus muttered to himself as the Shadowhunters helped themselves. The crates from the Adamant Citadel were ransacked for everything that was left, and the Clave Shadowhunters shared out what they could from their own weapons.

Last-minute hugs were exchanged hurriedly, but there were no goodbyes. After embracing his mother, Hunter pulled on a curious jacket made out of the tough material used to craft Shadowhunter gear, but an entire panel down the centre of his back had been replaced with some sort of flexible, shining metal that moved sinuously with him. Izzy lifted an eyebrow at it approvingly and tapped the metal with her fingernail.

"Fashion and demon hunting."

"A super suit," Simon added jokingly. His wife flashed him a dazzling smile.

"Definitely our kid."

Tessa flew to the bedroom to change out of her nightgown while the cabin began emptying out, and when she emerged, she found Jem leaning over the kitchen counter where Helen was scrawling messages in her elegant script as Aline dashed off messy notes. He was patiently melting red wax to press the Lightwood family ring's face into before sending them off.

"Jem, I can't stay," Tessa said breathlessly. Alec and Jace had already vanished out into the night with the others.

"What do you mean?" Wax dripped onto the counter, forgotten.

"I have to be there for them. I can't explain, but it's something I have to do. They need me."

"Tess..." Jem dropped the candle in the sink so that he could cup her face in his slim hands. The gear she was wearing was far too big for her. "You're not a fighter. Don't go."

She pressed her cheek into his palm and lifted her right hand to cover his left. "Tonight I am. It's in my blood, too. Stay here and take care of the kids. We'll be together again soon." She leaned forward to kiss him swiftly, and then she was gone.


	20. Chapter 20

**20**

Outside, above the ceiling of the shining dome, the sound of flapping, leathery wings was mixed with the shrieks and whoops of the demons that had crossed over from the Void. They flew overhead, invisible in the darkness.

"We're going to have to make a run for it!" Diego yelled to the Nephilim. "Stay in tight formation! Archers stay sharp!" Alec and Simon nocked arrows to bowstrings in unison with four crossbow-wielding Centurions and nodded their readiness.

The knot of just over forty Shadowhunters broke from the cover of the golden bubble and rushed out into the snowy darkness. Clary led the team down the path that ran along a ridge and bypassed the valley where the wards were anchored. Dozens of witchlights came to life, and their shaky light bounced across the trampled-down crusty snow as the Nephilim ran easily.

Claws descended from above, and Alec was the first to shoot. His runed arrow went straight through the demon at such a close range and lodged itself deep in a second creature above. Both screamed and dissolved in midair even as more of the monsters plummeted down into the group.

Sharp, elongated beaks stabbed at the Shadowhunters as grasping claws strained to reach past the sudden blaze of seraph blades and assorted weapons. Bowstrings hummed, bringing down a handful of the creatures before they crashed into the Centurions holding the rear of the line.

Blades slashed out in the circle of witchlight and pieces of the demons flopped lifelessly to the ground, their black ichor staining the purity of the snow.

Marcos Monteverde screamed as the needle-sharp beak of one of the flying monsters speared through the joint of his left shoulder, and his sister spun fluidly to decapitate the demon. The other creatures flapped madly to spiral back up into the concealing darkness to circle, regroup, and launch a second attack.

"Keep moving!" Diego hollered over the cacophony of demon shrieks.

Not even a hundred yards later, the flying beasts swooped down on the group again, hitting them hard on three sides this time. Blue and pink flares signalled where Magnus and Seraphine were striking back from the centre of the group, and sweat beaded on Max's forehead as he worked to spread a degree of protection over the Nephilim. Claws skittered over a glossy, dark blue shield for a few extra moments before breaking through to the Shadowhunters, buying them precious seconds to find their targets.

Trapped somewhere near the front of the formation, Rayce couldn't properly bring his staff to bear. He whipped it off his back and split it into its two halves just in time to parry a shiny, black beak that slashed at his head. The electrum and _adamas_ sheared through the bone cleanly, and he spun anxiously, eyes searching the air above him for more of the creatures.

Nearby, he saw the woman who had taken him down in the Consul's office on his first trip to Alicante. Pale witchlight reflected off three white scars that marred one side of her face, showing clearly as she grimaced and shoved the weight of one of the demons back and then stabbed it through one glittering black eye with her seraph blade. Its clawed wing jerked up and ripped at the side of her neck just as it started to vanish, and she screamed as new gashes opened from her ear down to her collarbone.

 _We're being torn apart!_ Rayce ducked as another demon dive-bombed toward him. He _shifted_ outside the group and slashed at the unprotected backs of two of the monsters locked onto one unfortunate Clave Shadowhunter.

The demons lifted away again into the night, and this time, there were three Nephilim down in the snow. Their comrades scooped them up without hesitation as the group continued to retreat, following a now-limping Clary.

With demon blood spattered across the front of his distinctive gear, Diego called up to the front of the line, "How much farther?"

"Nearly half a mile," Clary gasped, pushing herself to run faster despite the line of fire burning across her right thigh from where a demon had managed to claw her.

Rayce's heart sank as he melded his staff back into a single piece once more. _We won't make it._ He looked up again, his split-coloured eyes dark with worry. _Unless..._ He made the decision in an instant, drawing the horn of the Hunt from within his cloak and lifting it to his lips with a prayer.

A long, baying note echoed across the ice and rock, and a few of the Shadowhunters stumbled in confusion until they caught sight of Rayce in the witchlight, his white hair shining in the night as he summoned the Faerie warriors to the fight. His fiery-maned mount materialized at his side and he swung himself up into the saddle for what he hoped was the last time.

All around him, Hunters were coalescing as the horn called them back into the Mortal world from deep Faerie. Rayce took in the dark looks on their faces and hardened his voice, standing up in his stirrups and brandishing his double-bladed staff over his head. "Turn your blades on any demon that draws breath upon this island tonight. I command you to fight back against the creatures of the Void and to protect the Nephilim and their allies. No half-measures or delays – unleash the full savagery of the Hunt on the demons!"

Wild howls lifted from the throats of his Hunters as they drew their weapons. Rayce had no idea how much time had passed in the Eternal Forest since he had left, but the Faeries seemed even more bloodthirsty than before. Skeletal horses, hissing serpents, and many more unrecognizable mounts charged upward into the night at the urging of their masters, and the Hunt collided with the demons in a deadly clash.

The part of Rayce that was tied to the Hunt wanted to join them, wanted to rip and slash and tear at the monsters until there was nothing left, but he felt Sera's hand on his leg and it brought him back to the present. He banished his steed and slipped his hand into hers gratefully as the group started running again.

No more dark shapes dropped out of the sky, and the Nephilim were able to reach the ritual site unhindered as screams both Fey and demonic in origin cut through the night above them.

"Get going," Alec puffed at Rayce and Sera before he turned back to listen to Diego's commands.

Seraphine slid down the last dip toward the area of cleared rock and slowed as she approached it, her tail twitching nervously as she reached the edge of the ellipse of demon glyphs. Sera felt the same nauseating thickness in the air that was created by the conflicting runes of the site. She shivered as salty spray crashed over the western edge of the island and sent a freezing mist over the farthest circle of _adamas_ runes.

On the ridge behind them, a new bloom of bright light was blossoming outward as Magnus wove a protective dome over the area to blunt any demon attacks. The air lost some of its bite and the wind quieted. The brightness revealed the silhouettes of the Nephilim as they spread out to cover the perimeter, some of them scrambling up to the high-ground provided by the pile of rubble that had lain across the site for centuries.

"That's our cue, darlings," Seraphine called bravely. She reached out her hand to Rayce. "Start here, if you please. Sera, get over to your circle."

Rayce swallowed and he felt his heart rate speed up. The black runes seemed to absorb the light of Magnus' shield, and it was hard not to notice the contrast with the _adamas_ runes that Sera had stepped into to wait for him. They shone with purity. He felt the familiar ache in his chest when he looked at Sera in the golden light across the site, and she caught his eyes with her own.

' _Have faith,'_ she mouthed, touching her heart.

A smile crept across his face unbidden and he turned the staff in his left hand to slice across the meat of his right thumb. He barely felt the sting as blood welled up and dripped down onto the ellipse.

"That's valuable stuff! Don't waste it!" Seraphine chided him, and he knelt down quickly to trace over the first rune at his feet. The glyph glowed like embers in a fire pit when he finished, and Seraphine's gasp of wonder was all he needed to keep going. His blood ran into the sigils and was sucked up greedily as it stoked the ellipse back to life.

Seraphine's lilting English accent vanished as she began chanting in a low voice that dripped with poison, every syllable laced with ancient power as she slowly called upon the runes when he awakened them. He crawled from one glyph to the next, squeezing his thumb sickeningly to keep the blood flowing. When nearly three-quarters of the runes were reactivated, he started to see brilliant silver stars across his vision and he felt a wave of dizziness. He leaned back on his heels and fumbled in his boot for the stele Sera had left for him.

Rayce pressed the tip to the inside of his left forearm awkwardly with his injured hand and sketched a quick blood replenishment rune. The stele burned as it dragged across his flesh, but the rune curved outward and took shape, black lines stark against his pale skin. He felt Seraphine nudge him meaningfully with her toe without breaking the cadence of her chant, and he hunched back over the demonic runes.

When the last rune was traced over in his blood, all of the markings flared deep red like the belly of a volcano, and Rayce quickly rolled away from the ellipse. Seraphine stood inside, her arms raised over her head as she brought her recitation to a crescendo, her dark cap of curls streaming back from her face in a wind that existed only within the circle she controlled. She clapped her hands together with a thunderous crack and a final exclamation in whatever demonic language she was using to bend the ellipse to her will, and the runes pulsed in time with her heartbeat. Ecstasy played across her features for a moment before her brows furrowed in concentration and she shot a pointed look at Rayce that plainly said, ' _What are you waiting for?'_

High above the demon city of Pandemonium in the Oculus chamber, Lilith screamed and clutched at her chest as the last rune of the ellipse strangling the Mortal realm's wards was reactivated and the circle was complete once more. Asmodeus, enraptured by the large-scale assault playing out across the face of the Oculus, spared a glance for her as she fell to her knees in shock.

"Impossible," she panted, her chest heaving with disbelief. She made a slashing motion at the viewing portal, interrupting Asmodeus' scrying to replace it with an image of the ritual site where she had damaged Heaven's protection a thousand years before with Sammael at her side.

Asmodeus made an angry noise in his throat and whirled on her, but her black eyes were riveted on the scene before her. A warlock stood inside the throbbing ring of glyphs with her arms raised and power flooding through her small frame. A familiar boy was crawling across the bare bedrock toward a girl with blazing gold eyes. Lilith recognized both of them; she had spied on them in her owl form in Idris after they had spent a _very_ entertaining night together.

"What is this?" Asmodeus scoffed at her. "Still obsessed with the Nephilim, Lilith?"

She gritted her teeth. "Stop... them." _The boy..._ the son of her son. Blood of her blood. _But Sammael..._ she forced the Oculus to bring the boy into focus as the girl helped him to his feet inside a ring of _adamas_ runes. Slightly-pointed ears showed through his white hair, betraying his Fey ancestry, and she screeched in pure rage as she pieced his heritage together.

" _Kill them!_ " She screamed at Asmodeus as hissing black vipers poured from her eye sockets. " _They're trying to seal the wards!"_

Sera watched in awe as her tiny warlock friend seized command of the demonic ellipse once Rayce's gory task was complete. It looked like something out of a nightmare; the bedrock around her had cracked and split until the scarlet glyphs flaring across the scorched stone made it seem as if she were standing on a lava field. The fiery glow reflected off Sera's golden eyes as she stared in amazement.

Rayce crawled across the _adamas_ glyphs at her feet and she pulled him up with one hand as she laced the fingers of her left into his right to press an _iratze_ to the gash across his thumb. He smiled gratefully and leaned his forehead against hers with his eyes closed for a moment before turning back to see if Seraphine would succeed.

"Hell's maw," Sera whispered unconsciously as the ground rumbled under their feet in protest against the incredible amount of power now funnelling through the twisted circle.

They could see Seraphine's mouth moving as she directed the flow of magic, her small hands weaving expertly, and her eyes fixed unwaveringly at one of the runes near her feet where Rayce had first spilled his blood. Sera and Rayce followed her gaze and forgot how to breathe as the glyph suddenly vanished in an oily, black cloud that was sucked into the wind whipping around Seraphine's body. A smooth, unmarred piece of stone now interrupted the unnatural ellipse.

"Raziel..." Rayce breathed. "She's doing it."

Sera looked up at him fierce excitement in her eyes. "Now it's my turn." She drew out one of the cold iron blades that Zeke had given her before their journey to the Unseelie Court. Kneeling down next to the first of the _adamas_ runes, she experience another wave of the same feeling that had washed over her the last time she had come, that sense of _almost_ understanding the markings.

She sliced down her thumb without hesitation and traced the rune in a shaking line. Red seeped into the _adamas,_ and as she completed the first symbol, the blood that had filled in the grooves flashed to molten gold and solidified. Her breath caught in her throat at the transformation. Rayce gripped her shoulder reassuringly, lending her his strength.

 _I really hope you're up there, Ithuriel,_ she prayed silently. The rest of the runes transformed under her blood as she continued around the small circle. Across the site, Seraphine had managed to clear another of the demonic sigils, and was showing no sign of stopping.

When the circle was complete, Sera rose to her feet to watch the golden glyphs spark to life and send their light shooting upward, spearing through the darkness and up into the clouds above. The brightness enfolded Rayce where he was standing with his hands resting lightly on Sera's waist, both of them staring up through the blazing shaft in rapt wonder. Impossibly far above them, a glimmer of the most achingly sweet joy winked down at the Mortal realm.

"Heaven's gate," Rayce sighed blissfully.

Without warning, black and violet lightning crackled across the night sky with a deafening boom of thunder. A swirling Portal coated in a glossy black sheen ripped the fabric of the night just outside Magnus' protective barrier, and dozens of Shadowhunters whirled to face the threat. Above them, the Wild Hunt continued their deadly aerial ballet with the sharp-beaked monsters.

Sleek, blue-black furred demons pounced through the gateway like great cats, landing lightly on six massive paws each before springing forward in great leaps to attack the Nephilim ranks. Deadly tentacles waved menacingly from above their front shoulders and lashed out with stunning speed to catch the first Shadowhunters unprepared. One of the Buenos Aires fighters caught the barbed end of one tentacle across his face, and when the suckers were ripped away an instant later, his face went with them. Hissing viciously with their ears laid back, the creatures stalked forward even as one more figure emerged from the Portal.

Standing nearly nine feet tall on the Mortal plane, Asmodeus stepped through from the demon city of Pandemonium clad in his immaculate white-enamelled armour. His helm was ornamented with a crown of barbed wire that glinted in the light pouring from the ritual site. Silver flies dotted the vambrance plates over his forearms. Through the open face of his helm, he smiled delightedly, baring his pointed teeth when his cat-slitted eyes fell on his son.

"You always were my favourite, even when you annoyed me," Asmodeus called to Magnus over the snarling of his personal guard. He turned his head to look at the diminutive warlock standing inside the cracked ring of burning runes. "But perhaps I should have given your sister more credit!"

Rocked into stunned disbelief, Magnus allowed the shimmering protection inside the rim to flicker for a moment before snapping it back into place.

"Shall we end this now?" The demon unsheathed the Hell-forged blade at his side with one hand and closed the visor of his helm with the other.

The six-legged feline creatures launched themselves forward into a volley of crossbow bolts that shot straight through them without any apparent effect. One arrow pinged off Asmodeus' shining helm and he whipped his head around to see the dark-haired leader of the Nephilim standing tall on the rubble that had once covered the site, already notching a second arrow.

His angel-touched partner stood next to him with a seraph blade blazing in his hand.

"Hey, ugly!" Jace shouted, laughing maniacally. "Looking for _us?_ "

A second arrow flew straight and true and wedged itself into the slit of Asmodeus' visor, dangerously close to penetrating the demon-wrought armour. Inside his helm, he snarled wordlessly and turned away from his son. Magnus couldn't go anywhere without dropping the protection around the site; the warlock would be right where he left him when he returned after dealing with these... children.

The subway tunnels below New York City echoed with screams and snarls as Downworlders clashed with demons in a bloody free-for-all. The body of a werewolf went sailing across the tracks to slam into a tiled wall, leaving deep cracks and a smear of dark red fur.

Lily Chen hissed at a Moloch demon that was charging toward her, and then reached out with blinding speed to seize its head and twist sharply. She strained for a moment, flexing with inhuman strength to completely tear the monster's head from its body. She neatly dodged the splash of demon blood that spurted out before the body folded back in on itself and took its head with it back to whatever realm it called home.

Behind her, a werewolf crunched down hard on a Drevak demon and narrowly avoided becoming a pincushion when the deadly spines shot forward. All around the unusual pairing of vampire and werewolf, demons were dissolving under a savage flurry of teeth and claws. They were harder to kill without the runes of the Nephilim... _but tear them into enough pieces and they die like everything else,_ Lily mused to herself.

She threw a pointed look at the werewolf at her side. "I can't believe you woke me up for this, Maia."

The wolf's lips curled up into what might have been intended as a smile and a deep chuffing sound in the back of its throat was probably supposed to be a laugh.

As the dust from shattered columns began to settle, a cheerful 1920s ragtime tune rang out and the inner pocket of Lily's neat, dark suit jacket started to buzz. She drew out her cellphone with one manicured hand and lifted it to her ear.

"Hello?" A pause. "Mmhmm. Yeah. We know. Yes, seriously." She idly examined the nail of the fourth finger on her left hand while she listened and noticed that it had broken slightly, leaving a rough jag that was guaranteed to snag on an expensive part of her wardrobe. _Pity._ "The Lightwoods warned us about this last week. The Praetorians have been doing double patrols this whole time, and my regrettable alliance has forced most of the New York clan into doing the same. Where have _you_ been?"

Maia gave a low growl, and two groups of three wolves each split away from the group, racing in opposite directions down the tracks to scout for more demons.

"We're way ahead of you, Nephilim," Lily sighed. "Look, we just cleaned out the area around the York Street station. As if it wasn't already hard enough to get around during rush hour in this city, now the people have to deal with demons _and_ buskers."

Howls from the southern end of the tunnel signalled where Maia's scouts had found more demons, and she rolled her big yellow eyes at Lily to tell her to wrap it up.

The vampire delicately bit the offending jag off her damaged nail. _Good enough for now._ "We'll handle things down here until sundown. You keep things under control up there, unless you can spare some bodies to give us a hand. We'll use the tunnels to get around." She ended the call and pocketed her phone.

"The Shadowhunters say this is for real, just like the Lightwoods said." The leader of the New York vampires tucked a stray strand of dark hair behind her ear. "They're using the phrase ' _global event',_ " she said, making air quotes with her fingers. " _Very_ dramatic, as usual."

Maia made the same, strange laugh in the back of her throat again and then pushed herself back up to all fours, trotting forward to follow the sounds of her pack with Lily at her heels.

All over the world, in every time zone, demons crossed through gateways drawn in the blood of their brethren on the weakest points of the world's wards. Hundreds had sacrificed their lives so that thousands upon thousands more could pour through.

Warlocks who had cast their own nets of protection or wardings around their cities were alerted immediately, and were able to quickly raise others to defend their cities. The son of Magnus Bane had been quite clear with his instructions, and none of them had been willing to cross the famous warlock. Easier to cast the spells and have them amount to nothing than to be revealed as having ignored the warning later.

Children of the Night answered the call reluctantly, but came like shadows to descend on demons when screams of terror rose. In other cities, great wolves streaked along streets in full daylight, heedless of being seen by the occasional Mundane with the Sight. They threw themselves into the underground mezzanines to hunt down the monsters that threatened their territories.

Much of Downworld had been united as messages had spread from one nest to the next, from one pack to another, multiplying the warnings given by the strange brothers, Rafael and Max, and carried by word of mouth into hundreds of ears far beyond their original reach. Downworlders had always been far more interconnected than the Nephilim who held themselves aloof from the rest, and now they seemed better prepared than the Children of the Angel answer this new threat.

Still, dozens of Institutes had been running on high alert since listening to Simon or Isabelle Lightwood, and they had held fast to their loyalty to Alec. Their response was swift and deadly, and Shadowhunters stood ready, shoulder-to-shoulder with Downworlders in many cases, to fight back.

But there was a limit to how much could be done, and many more countries were caught unaware and unprepared for the chaos that poured out of circles drawn in black ichor. Demons tore into Mortals unchallenged and revelled in the glory of fear-drenched shrieks. They ran unchecked across the cities to reap a rich harvest of helpless Mundanes with no help in sight.

Diego spun the handles of his seraph blades in either hand as he crouched down low to face off against one of the cat-like demons that had come through with Asmodeus. The weapons spun in tight circles and then he gripped them comfortably, ready to strike. The roughly tiger-sized creature hissed, opening its mouth wide to show serrated teeth. Its tentacles hovered over its shoulders warily for a moment before they slashed forward at the Executor.

He raised his left blade to parry the attack and shot forward to counter with his right, but he met no resistance with his weapon. Instead, he felt double hammer-blows in his left side and chest as invisible appendages slammed into him. Barbed suckers dug into his gear and then he was sent spinning off balance as they were torn away, along with diamond-shaped pieces of his distinctive jacket.

Diego rolled through the snow, the ice sending flashes of cold through the new rents in his gear. _What just happened?_ The demon circled on its six massive paws, and the tentacles lifted high once more before smashing back down toward him.

The Centurion threw himself out of the way desperately, and was rewarded with a twin-clubbing from the dangerous suckers again nearly five feet away, and two more pieces of the tough gear were ripped out of his thigh and back. He sprang up immediately and lunged aside blindly to avoid a massive swipe from the demon's front paws.

An arrow thudded into the creature's flank and Diego's head whipped around for its source.

Simon was already sighting down the shaft of a second arrow, aiming at a spot roughly six feet to Diego's left. It streaked through the air, hopelessly wide of the mark, and the Executor cursed under his breath until he heard a roar of pain and saw another arrow quivering in the demon's haunches.

"Displacer beasts!" Simon yelled from the position he was holding near the top of the rubble pile now that Jace and Alec had vanished with Asmodeus in pursuit.

Diego dived backwards on a whim and skidded into a drift of snow, narrowly avoiding another attack. The demon snarled and flattened its ears back against its skull. "What the _hell_ does that mean?"

"How have _none_ of you guys read the Monster Manual by now?" The former Dungeon Master shouted back down as he nocked a third shot and sighted several feet away from his target again. "Watch the footprints in the snow!"

Suppressing every swear word he knew in four languages, Executor Rosales took the advice of a former Mundane and bounded forward with both seraph blades driving toward the centre of six heavy indents in the snow.

The shining weapons plunged into an invisible body and the displacer beast's image to his right threw its head back to scream in agony. Encouraged, Diego ripped the blades sideways through what he hoped was the demon's body and then felt his weapons tear free. The monster dissipated into smoke as it was banished back to its world.

 _I will never hear the end of this_.

Sera watched in horror as the Greater Demon stepped out of an inky black Portal that had opened, and she heard Alec's voice in her mind again, ' _Sera's talking about opening paths between Heaven and Hell, and we're all that's going to be standing there to guard it! If we die, and those circles are open, what then?'_

She lifted her hand to cover her mouth. _This is all my fault._ A smear of blood from the slice across her thumb painted her lips red and left a salty taste in her mouth.

Rayce pulled his gaze away from where the cat-demons were charging forward and the Greater Demon had gone after Jace and Alec. He cupped Sera's face in his palm and turned her away from the battle, too.

"We have to do it now, Sera," he said gently. "It's the only way to help them."

Her lips parted slightly and she squeezed her eyes shut. "I'm afraid," she whispered.

Rayce lifted her other hand, the one that still held the iron blade, and wrapped his fingers around hers tenderly. He carefully rested the tip against his bare chest and brushed his thumb across her cheek. "I'm not," he lied.

He leaned forward slightly, mindful of the blade between them, and kissed her softly. The warmth of her lips sent a thrill through his body and a slight sigh escaped him. _If this isn't Heaven, I don't know what is._

"Do it," he breathed.

Another burning scarlet rune in the demonic ellipse vanished as Sera opened her golden eyes to look into Rayce's split-coloured gaze one more time.

"I'm so sorry."

Sera pushed the blade into his chest and let go of the hilt as if she could undo what she had done. Rayce gasped as the tip pierced one of his lungs and his eyes widened in shock. He tried to take a breath through the intense burning, and doubled over instead, falling to his knees inside the circle of flaring golden runes.

Rayce coughed in a spasm of agony and then choked on the blood that filled his mouth. His hands shook as he fought the natural instinct that was screaming at him to pull the blade out, and instead he seized Sera's hands in his own.

Her face had gone white, and her eyes were huge as her own breathing raced ahead of her heart beat as she knelt in front of him. _I did this._ It felt like her heart was going to jackhammer out of her chest. _What if I was wrong?_ Lady Luck had lost before...

A sharp _snick_ clicked in the space between them, and Sera gasped when Rayce leaned back slightly so that she could see that the clasp of the cloak had sprung open as its magic sensed its master's imminent death.

Sera tilted her head back to look straight up the shaft of golden light in which they were enclosed and took a deep breath, praying that someone was listening.

 _Help me!_


	21. Chapter 21

**21**

Time seemed to slow around Sera, winding down like a clockwork piece on its last cycle until the Shadowhunters on the ridge were nearly frozen in place. The cat-like demons were halted mid-attack, their deadly tentacles poised to strike. Seraphine had become an elegant statuette with her arms held high and her dark curls blown back from a face that was filled with determination. Rayce's grimace of pain was a mask that made Sera close her eyes to let a single tear fall.

When she opened them again, the ritual site and the battle raging outside of it had vanished. Instead of cold bedrock under her knees, she found herself kneeling on what seemed like nothing more than a cloud, and a quick peek over the edge gave her an impossible view of the world far below. It was criss-crossed with an infinitely complex, shimmering network of gently vibrating lines that hummed quietly with an enchanting music. Dizzy, she rolled away from the edge. She was not alone.

Ithuriel stood patiently in front of shining white gates that stood closed. He was no longer the emaciated, tortured angel who had waited in darkness for years until Jace and Clary had discovered him under Wayland Manor. His glorious white wings were restored, full and strong, his platinum and gold tousle of hair shone in the light, and a fiercely proud smile lifted his heart-breakingly beautiful face. He was clothed simply in loose white trousers, and his golden-tinged chest was bare. He walked toward her on bare feet through wisps of cloud and stretched out his hand to help her rise.

"Daughter of mine, you have exceeded every hope that was born with you when you came into this world," he whispered joyously, unable or unwilling to contain the excitement in his voice.

Sera's hand was shaking in her father's grasp as she struggled to catch up to what was happening, more than a little nervous about seeing what looked like, for all intents and purposes, the Pearly Gates. "Am I dead?"

His laughter was sweet and gentle, and he lifted his other hand to brush her cheek tenderly. "Far from it, my child. You have come so far and suffered so much, but your journey is not over yet."

She felt her lower lip quiver for a moment as frustrated tears threatened to spill over, and her eyebrows drew together in an accusatory stare. "You _knew_. You were _watching?_ Why didn't you save me? Or any of us?"

Ithuriel's happy smile faded, and he shook his head sadly in response. "Heaven's hand cannot work so openly. There are consequences to such direct intervention, and their effects can be far-reaching."

Unsatisfied with his answer, she stubbornly refused to forgive him so easily. He read the doubt in her eyes and turned her back toward the edge of the cloud so that they could look down together. He folded his arms around her from behind and embraced her. Love radiated from his body, and Sera trembled in wonder as the radiant net of faintly singing strands came back into view.

"Let me show you."

His hands slid down to guide hers into the shimmering mass, leading the index finger of her right hand to a single, bright fibre that pulsed differently than the others. The moment she touched it, soaring music filled her ears, burning through her, and she knew at once in her heart that this was her father's life line. She closed her eyes in bliss as his song flooded through her mind and swept her away.

 _A clockwork angel fluttered its mechanical wings futilely as Ithuriel struggled within, trapped in a prison from which he could not escape. Years drifted by uncounted, seemingly without purpose, but in truth, bringing him closer to one day being tasked with protecting a unique child. His long incarceration taught him patience and quieted his immortal mind until he could truly listen to the Mortals around him. He learned to see what they saw, hear what they heard, and feel what they felt. In time, he came to love as they loved. When his freedom was granted, he took with him the lessons he had learned, and they were engraved upon his heart._

 _Years later, he was ensnared by a Shadowhunter, lured in by his own love for Mortals, but his captor was filled with anger and blinded by the entitlement of his birth. Sadness consumed Ithuriel to see the despair that had claimed the Nephilim, but he held his silence, even when his blood was forcibly taken. He prayed that it would help restore the broken faith of Raziel's warriors. It wasn't until much later that the children touched with his blood came and set him free, though with an unknown cost._

 _When the gates of Heaven had not yielded under his hands, it had nearly broken him. He did not yet understand the path than he was walking, and saw only an unjust punishment. Cast down into the Mortal world, he followed his heart and fell in love with a Shadowhunter._

"But you didn't _stay_ ," Sera whispered, pulling away from the strand so that the song it played grew quieter.

Ithuriel laced his fingers into hers and squeezed gently. His breath was warm in her hair. "I thought I was weak, that I couldn't live without the light of Heaven, and perhaps that was true," he confessed. "But what I did not know was that you needed to grow up to be strong enough to survive what was coming. You had to be free to act as you saw fit."

She sniffed, holding back the tide of emotions that churned through her. "Then all of this was planned? I've just been following a script?"

Her father turned her around inside the circle of her arms, his expression serious. "No," he said firmly. "You should know better than anyone the importance of free will, Sera. Opportunities can only be created, but it's _people_ who must choose." He closed his golden eyes for a moment before looking at her again. "Every choice that was made, first by John Shade, then by Tessa Gray, all the way down to Valentine Morgenstern, myself in the form of Ahren Castledown, and eventually your mother – it was all free will. Do you understand? If any one of us had chosen differently, you would not be here now. Heaven deals in opportunities, Sera, not outcomes."

"But Rayce..." she began.

"Follows the same rules," he answered with certainty. "Watch."

He guided her to a different line and a very different tune played under her fingertips. Many other strains were interwoven, harmonizing in some places even as they made a discordant mess in others. _Valentine Morgenstern._ Sera could read the meaning in the song, though it was not as clear as her father's had been.

 _Born to be a firebrand that would ignite the slow-burning fuse that snaked through decades of time, his was the spark of a generation. Dissatisfied with the presumed imbalance of abilities between Downworlders and Nephilim, he experimented recklessly with a brilliant mind that only knew how to ask, 'can I?' instead of, 'should I?'. He pushed the boundaries to the limits with himself, and surpassed them with his children. Without his zealotry, a son born of the blood of a Greater demon would not have come to shake the very foundations of the world. Without his remorse, a daughter born of the blood of an angel would not have come to balance her brother's arrogance._

Sera blinked as her fingers shifted down infinitesimally until she could feel a darker song blooming inside her. _Sebastian_ _Morgenstern._

 _A child raised alone, trained in the arts of war from birth by a father with vengeance blazing in his heart, his was the curse of a generation. Tainted by a Greater Demon even before he ever opened his eyes, Jonathan Morgenstern became the sacrifice that was necessary to bring the world one step closer to healing the damage caused by the very demon that had been so pleased to see a living son of her blood. In his place, Sebastian Morgenstern rose on a tide of misery, tearing the Nephilim apart even as he knit them more closely together against himself._

 _A dark alliance with the Queen of the Seelie Court gave way to a tryst that birthed a boy with the power to unlock the demonic ellipse that poisoned the world's wards._

More and more lines began merging as Sera struggled to breathe, and the music in her heart swelled achingly as everything began to spiral together. New voices joined with those she was already hearing, raising it in a steady crescendo. _Ezekiel Hightower. Arynessa._

 _Valentine Morgenstern's failed Circle of Raziel led to the deaths of many, but it was those who survived that would go on to continue shaping the world for this moment. Ezekiel Hightower was sentenced by Inquisitor Herondale to Stripping and exile as punishment for his involvement in the Uprising._

 _Angry and hell-bent on revenge, he was instead intercepted by a curious Faerie. His wounds healed, and scars were formed both inside and out as one of the Greater Fey cared for him in the Land Under the Hill. Saved from throwing his life away meaninglessly, Zeke instead found himself in the Seelie Court, where years later, he would be needed to train a brash, young half-Shadowhunter._

 _Where the Seelie Queen saw only an opportunity to bring a Shadowhunter to heel at her command and to refill the Seelie coffers in the bargain, she ended up investing in the training that would give her son a lifetime of experience against the greatest Faerie knights so that he could one day survive in single combat against Lord Gwyn of the Hunt._

 _Arynessa, grieving for her sister's death and craving redemption for her deplorable torture of Arthur Blackthorn, was given the responsibility for raising her half-blood brother. She carved out a safe place for Rayce to live and grow into a man of whom she could be proud. The natural balance of herself, Ezekiel, and Baelerithon all contributing to the boy's upbringing ensured that he would be ready to bear the weight and challenge of what was to come._

Mesmerized and somewhat intoxicated by the increasing complexity of the veritable symphony resonating throughout her entire body, she traced her fingers down several more lines at once and sighed as an even great chorus rose within.

 _Sebastian Morgenstern's Dark War ended in disaster for his forces, but left consequences for many others. It sparked political disaster for the Seelie Queen, and would eventually lead to her death at the hands of a son too eager to assume the throne and correct what he viewed as her mistakes._

 _In Alicante, councils argued bitterly until a decision was made to banish a half-Faerie Shadowhunter to Wrangel Island for nothing more than her heritage. Helen Blackthorn went dutifully into exile, already quietly hardening herself into a shield to protect the Shadow World. Where others may have chosen to give up, she made the decision to own her place in the world and make the most of it. Her work to devise an early warning system with the wards led to the eventual discovery of a buried ritual site forgotten by time, and set her on the path to unlocking its secrets with the help of her rune-gifted friend, Clary Herondale._

 _To ease the loneliness of Helen's solitary vigil, Aline Penhallow selflessly sacrificed her freedom to go into exile willingly and leave her family behind. Her courage and fiery passion for their shared cause would be the fuel that kept their curiosity burning through the years that it would take to find the damage caused by the Incursion. She perfectly balanced her wife in every way, and ensured that the work on Wrangel Island would not go unheard by Alicante._

Sera flinched awayfrom a low, slow pulse that beat wickedly under a bold overture. _Everett Whitelock. Alexander Lightwood_

 _Partnered closer than brothers with Jace Herondale and loved unconditionally by the powerful Magnus Bane, Alec Lightwood built his strength on solid pillars of support that would not fail him as he endured the ridicule and judgement of people who were not yet ready to see a greater world in which to live. Rising on his own merit through steadfast dedication to moving the Nephilim forward instead of backward, Alec began laying the foundation for a new order._

 _But even as he struggled to pull the Shadowhunters higher, Everett worked to drag them lower and sink back into the same age that had once been idealized by Valentine Morgenstern. He forced Alec out of office just in time, freeing his rival to act without restraint when the world could not wait for councils and votes to decide its fate. In the end, Everett's single-minded obsession with possessing Sera and using her gift for his own glory only resulted in forcing her to search for answers to questions that hadn't been asked. Imprisoned, and with her friend's life in danger, she had had no choice but to piece together the clues from her search. Sparing him had been a final test to ensure that Rayce had survived the crucible of the Hunt's madness._

Tears burned hot tracks down her face and neck, but Sera couldn't stop herself from touching a vibrating strand that was all-too familiar to her.

 _A dream of a Faerie prince when she was still a child, his eyes enchanting, their connection immediate and deep. Her world had shifted that night, and he had haunted her thoughts every day from then on. She could not understand why, but in her heart, she knew that she had to find him, to free him, to save him. She loved him from the first moment their eyes met, and every decision after was made to pursue that love until she could find it in truth._

 _Her choice to not warn her mother after seeing the tragic fall in a dream was the start of her path toward Rayce. Every step led her closer even as she used her gifts to amass wealth in secret, already preparing to be ready for dozens of potential futures. When she found Seraphine and began studying her gifts in earnest, there was no way to know that it was all practice for when she would need it most, that she was building the trust that would one day be required when she would place the safety of the world in her friend's hands._

 _Finding him, stealing the Seelie crown, fleeing the Courts, and eventually losing him to the Hunt had threatened to break her, but instead, she had chosen to fight back. Her quest had led her along paths that no other Shadowhunter could walk, and had given her the unique insight she had needed to bring her to this place, to this moment. If she had not loved and lost, then she would never have sought and found._

Ithuriel closed his hands over hers and drew her away from the edge.

Shaking from the enormity of what she had witnessed, Sera couldn't speak. Her father lifted her chin so that he could look into her eyes.

"Many Mortals have tried to understand their connection to others and the greater world around them as a tapestry, and they see themselves as little more than threads to be woven into a grand design." He smiled gently at her. "But now you see the truth. A thread is only ever a thread, and weaving it into an unchanging piece would never do justice to the beauty of Mortals."

Sera hiccoughed and tried to catch her breath, to absorb what her father was saying, but she was still struggling to shake free of the glorious performance below.

"Some songs are louder than others," Ithuriel continued, "and they can end up leading those around them to take up their tune and rise above the rest, for better or for worse. Humans have the power to change their melody at any time, to choose to be something else, to write their own measures. When that happens, they will find that perhaps they flow perfectly with different tunes, and new harmonies form. The music is a dynamic, living thing that is constantly growing and changing with you."

He cupped her face in his palm and she tilted her face into it, overwhelmed as he gestured outward with his other hand to encompass the glowing, humming network that cradled the world below them.

"These, Sera," he whispered fiercely, "are our Mortal Instruments, and theirs is the Song of Heaven."

She fell against him, weeping openly and unashamedly from the beauty of what she had seen. He folded his arms around her and held her tightly, rocking her slightly and wishing for just a moment that he had been able to be a true father to her.

Moments passed, and then she looked up at him, ready to ask what needed to be asked.

"What must I do to save him?"

Ithuriel pressed a kiss to her forehead and led her to the back side of the cloud. She peered over the edge and saw nothing but an endless night sky dotted with glittering diamonds.

"It is not without its own dangers," he warned as she stared in disbelief.

 _How the hell am I supposed to find anything in that?_ A surge of guilt shot through her. _Am I allowed to say 'hell' up here?_

She squashed the thought and flashed a confident smile at her father to cover her fear of leaping into whatever was below. "Free will. I _want_ to do this."

"Then I will hold your Mortal half here, safe from the Nightlands. Follow your heart, daughter of mine." He lifted her hands in his own and pressed them over his heart. "When you are ready."

Sera swallowed thickly and took one last look at the inky sky that awaited her.

"I'm ready."

Jace bounded off the heap of rubble on the northeast side of the ritual site and dashed away into the snow without looking back. The sharp twang of Alec's bowstring at his back was all the confirmation he needed to know that the enemy general had taken up the pursuit. They had never imagined that it would be Asmodeus himself. Alec must have been particularly unsettled to see the Greater Demon. _I mean, it's not like most guys have to go toe-to-toe with their father-in-law._ Although, considering who he had married, and everything that had passed between himself and Valentine, maybe it wasn't such a strange thing after all.

Shouts of dismay from the Shadowhunters they were leaving behind faded as the icy wind swirled around Jace. Whatever those monsters were that had come through with Asmodeus, they weren't anything he had ever seen, and part of him itched to be able to take a stab at one, literally. But Alec had left Diego in charge for a reason, and they had bigger problems to deal with now.

 _Yeah, like 9-feet tall problems._

The ground ahead rose sharply, and Jace felt one of his boots slip on a patch of ice buried under the snow. He stumbled for a moment and reached down with one hand to steady himself. He risked a quick glance over his shoulder and saw that Asmodeus was hard on their heels.

Screams from one of the cat-like creatures echoed in the darkness behind the Greater Demon, and Jace felt his heart sink a bit. _Oh, come on!_

Alec pivoted smoothly at his side and sent another pair of arrows streaking out almost faster than Jace could follow, their runed heads pinging off the demon steel and white enamel without much effect, but they had to keep Asmodeus interested. Jace doubted that Alec would even be able to see or hit his target in the darkness without the heavy compliment of runes running up and down his body. Their warming runes wouldn't last long exposed out in the cold like this; Jace could already feel his hands stiffening up, and was certain that his brother wasn't faring much better while having to draw a bowstring.

With snow kicked up by their flight swirling around them, the two famous parabatai charged up the rising slope side by side and paused at the top to exchange a quick glance.

"Are you sure you can do this?" Alec shouted into the gust of wind that hit them once they were no longer protected by face of the incline. "It's not too late!"

Jace lifted his seraph blade higher, casting a wider circle of illumination around them. "I can do it! He won't let us down!"

The heavy crunch of ice and snow at the base of the slope signalled Asmodeus' approach, and Jace caught the glimmer of reflected light off the demon's armour.

The Prince of Hell lifted one of his gauntleted hands and clenched his fingers together in a crushing motion that immediately sent the rock under their feet shifting wildly. Even as Jace pitched forward, Alec stumbled backwards, and then there was nothing left under the Consul's feet to support him. He slipped down the steep back of the rise and out of sight, tumbling through the snow helplessly.

"Alec!" Jace screamed, trying to regain his footing in the treacherous slide created by their struggle. Again, one of his boots skidded on the icy rock under the snow and he went down, sliding back toward where Asmodeus was waiting.

Before he reached the bottom, Jace managed to get both of his feet planted solidly and he launched himself out of the cascade. He landed lightly fifteen feet away from the Greater Demon and tightened his grip on the seraph blade. _Well, this wasn't part of the plan._

"You're all alone now!" Asmodeus called out gleefully, his voice echoing strangely inside his helm. The Hell-forged sword pulsed darkly in his hand, sending ripples of the deepest red across the flat of its blade, eager to feast on the blood of Heaven.

Jace threw a panicked look back up the slope, but there was no sign of Alec. _Time for Plan B: Stall._

"So are you!" Jace shouted giddily. "I guess we're even!"

Asmodeus laughed in delight, and then levelled the deadly blade in Jace's direction. "Allow me to show you just how wrong you are about that, little Nephilim."

 _Plan B sucked!_ Jace didn't have time to think anything else before the Greater Demon had closed the distance between them and the great sword came slashing down at him. He brought up his own seraph blade to parry the blow, and when the two weapons met, they hissed as the starkly opposing magics interacted. The force of the demon's strike sent a terrific shock through Jace's left arm and he crumpled to one knee to absorb enough of the impact to turn it.

Asmodeus' sword sliced into the bedrock just inches from Jace's foot before the Shadowhunter pushed away in a hurry. _Raziel!_ He spun a tight circle and backpedalled out of the demon's superior reach. _Why didn't we make a Plan C or D?_

Changing tactics, Asmodeus attacked with a flurry of blows that lacked the power of his first swing, but made up for it by forcing Jace to back-step rapidly while narrowly deflecting each strike.

 _Can't breathe!_ Jace gasped in the cold, stunned by the ferocity of the exchange. He let himself be rocked back onto his heels as he struggled to stay ahead of the wickedly gleaming sword. His own seraph blade shuddered with the force of each parry, and he began to have very serious concerns about its ability to hold out against the assault.

Jace dove sideways, springing wide of another killing blow, and he sprang lightly off his hands to propel his momentum to carry himself further away.

"Don't play cat and mouse with me, boy," Asmodeus snarled, stalking through the snow with impunity. If Jace had been able to spare a moment to look more closely, he would have been able to see that the inherent heat of the demon-wrought armour was melting the ice and snow closest to the Prince of Hell.

"Can I ask about the cat thing?" Jace shouted breathlessly. "Like, do all of your kids have cat features as their warlock mark? Do you have any connection to a cat named Church, or is he just a jerk naturally?" He dodged sideways as Asmodeus struck down viciously in response.

The demon twisted and Jace only just managed to get his seraph blade up in time to block the next attack. _Can't win if you don't attack, Herondale! The best offense is a strong offense! Let's go!_

He lunged forward, aiming for the joint in Asmodeus' armour just inside his thigh, but his blade skittered off the plate when the demon turned, anticipating the thrust.

At this point, only Jace's superior agility was keeping him alive, and he tried to create distance between himself and Asmodeus again. _Come on, Alec, don't leave me hanging!_

"So, I'm figuring, there's nine Princes of Hell, right?" Jace yelled. "And cats have nine lives. Coincidence? _I think not!_ "

Asmodeus growled inside his helm and lifted his hand again menacingly. Before he could bring his power to bear against the natural world once more, an arrowhead bounced off the back plate of his armour, and he spun around in disgust to see the dark-haired Nephilim back in the fight.

With Asmodeus' back turned, Jace saw the shining opportunity that he was being given, and without another thought, he threw himself forward silently like a golden blur in the night.

But the Greater Demon was a veteran of thousands of battles, and one Nephilim child was no different than any other. He lifted his blade without taking his eyes off the archer in front of him, and executed a blind reverse thrust that caught Jace squarely in the chest.

Three and a half feet of Hell-forged steel slid into the foolish Shadowhunter, and his partner screamed in horror. The seraph blade's light guttered out and its hilt dropped from nerveless fingers as the Nephilim's greatest warrior grappled weakly with Asmodeus in a futile effort to somehow slide free of the weapon.

"A pity that _you_ don't have nine lives now, isn't it?" Asmodeus taunted as he lifted the blade and wrenched it free. A smoking wound gaped grotesquely in the Shadowhunter's chest as the light went out of his golden eyes and he collapsed in a lifeless heap at the Greater Demon's feet.

"Noooooo!" Utterly distraught, Alec dropped his bow and drew a fresh seraph blade from his weapons belt. " _Tammariel,"_ he roared into the wind, and it sprang to life in his hand.

"Oh, _yes!"_ Asmodeus laughed. "I simply _love_ killing you Nephilim in pairs!" He opened his arms wide, inviting the challenge. "Let's see if you fare better than your partner!"

Alec charged forward, the seraph blade spinning in his hand as he slammed into the Greater Demon with a fury he had never felt before in his life. He had always been the calm one; slow to anger, quick to cool. But all of that was forgotten now.

He could barely keep track of his own movements as the seraph blade slashed and stabbed with deadly intent, seeming almost as if it had a mind of its own. Decades of training took over Alec's body, and he moved like a man possessed. In a lucky strike, the seraph blade caught along the edge of one of Asmodeus' vambrances and sheared the entire piece off.

Despite his superior size and weight, the Prince of Hell staggered backwards in surprise at the ferocity of the Shadowhunter. _They truly do go mad if their parabatai_ _dies_ , he marvelled. _How barbaric._

They traded blows back and forth across the snow, one weapon shining with the light of Heaven, the other gleaming with the taint of Hell. Tears stained Alec's cheekbones and left freezing trails down his face, but he couldn't bring himself back under control. Not now.

The wind howled as if to echo the fury that filled Alec, and it lifted snow from the drifts around the two combatants in a dizzying surge. Alec caught a powerful overhead strike on his seraph blade and gritted his teeth, holding against the Prince of Hell's strength.

"Don't worry, it'll all be over soon," Asmodeus cooed at him from behind the visor of his helm.

A flare of blindingly brilliant light filled the darkness behind the Greater Demon for an instant before vanishing. Then Asmodeus grunted in surprise, and Alec pulled back just in time to see the tip of a shimmering dagger pierce through the front of his enemy's armour.

"Yep," a mocking voice said from the other side of the demon. "It will be!"

Jace let go of the handle of the _aegis_ that had been gifted to Alec by Sister Cleophas outside the Adamant Citadel and stepped back. Asmodeus looked down at the weapon protruding from his chest and scrabbled at the tip in horror. White light filled his armour, and cracks rippled along the steel like tiny lightning strikes. He started to scream as Heaven's power tore through his corporeal form.

Acting on instinct, Jace tackled Alec into the snow only seconds before the Greater Demon went up in a shaft of the purest brilliance imaginable, winking out of existence in an instant.

"Nailed it," Jace laughed, flopping down into the snow, breathing hard. He rubbed at his eyes to try to clear the blinding afterimage of Asmodeus' demise. "Sorry I'm late - I got a little hung up with one of those cat-things that tried to come after its master, but I managed to kill it eventually." He brought his witchlight stone to life and pointed to where pieces of his gear had been torn away in strips by the powerful tentacles. "Tricky bastards."

Alec didn't respond, and that's when Jace noticed the look of numb shock on his brother's face. A flash of dread went through him and he craned his neck to search the area.

"Where's Tessa?"

Ithuriel still held his daughter's hands lightly clasped over his heart, and at her word, he took a swift step backwards.

Sera gasped in surprise as she felt a part of herself stretch and then snap free. Her father was now gently holding a ghostly image of herself that remained still in his arms. _What's happening..._ her thoughts trailed off as she looked down at her body, holding out her arms in astonishment.

Impossibly, she was sheathed in a shimmering gold dress that hugged every curve. Her hair fell in a gleaming tumble over her shoulders that confused her. All of the exhaustion and abuse she had endured had been wiped away, replaced by a gloriously fresh sense of purpose, and her heart started to pound as new strength filled her. A flash of gold over her shoulder startled her back into the moment. She whirled to find the source, but the glint moved with her, and that's when she felt the new weight of the gracefully arched golden wings at her back.

She stared back at her father in open-mouthed shock. "This is _temporary_ right?"

He smiled back at her, and she could have sworn that he winked. "Very. Go quickly, while there's still time. I will protect your Mortal half from what lies beyond the veil."

More than a little nervous about jumping, Sera took a deep breath to calm herself. _No sweat. Apparently, I've got wings now._ She screwed up her courage, backed up a few steps, and then ran for the edge without another thought. She dove off like she used to dive into the lake where she had grown up, plunging headfirst into the darkness like a shooting star.

She passed through the veil and into what her father had called the Nightlands with an icy splash, as if she really had leaped into a freezing lake, but there was only an endless night sky that stretched out as far as she could see in every direction. Including... _down._ Her stomach lurched as she suddenly dropped, but she halted her descent with a thought.

 _Just like being in a dream_ , she tried to tell herself. Stars glittered all around her, some more brightly than others, and she tried to find some way to mark the distance or _anything_ really, but there was nothing. Just emptiness.

"Hello!" She shouted.

 _Hello, hello, hello..._ her voice echoed away from her.

"Rayce!"

 _Rayce, Rayce, Rayce..._

"Well, that's just a little too creepy," she muttered, suddenly worried about what else she might attract by shouting. _Probably not anything good._

She moved forward without seeming to, searching blindly as the stars raced away all around her. A trickle of doubt crept into her mind. It was just so... _desolate._

Her mind drifted even as her body did, and she found herself thinking uncomfortably about the Unseelie wraith, Veralysia. _God, how long did she spend searching for Gwyn in this place?_ She shivered unconsciously. _She spent her whole life trying to get... here._

The more she tried _not_ to think about Veralysia, the more her mind insisted on conjuring up very clear memories of the woman's wasted face, the broken nails like claws, and the tattered robes that had been eaten away over the centuries.

"Oh, yeah, just pour on the terror, that's nice," Sera told her brain sarcastically.

Before she could berate herself any further, she saw movement in the darkness and her heart leaped into her throat. _Holy shit!_ She tried to vanish, to send herself somewhere else in the endless night, and it might have worked, but it was hard to tell when everything looked so much the same.

Breathing hard, she clutched at her chest and then laughed nervously.

A pale spectre flickered to life right in front of her and Sera screamed in spite of herself. As if thinking about the Unseelie had been enough to summon her, the wraith now loomed over Sera.

Dead black eyes widened in astonishment, and the Faerie's ruined mouth sagged open sickeningly. Sera tried not to stare at where Veralysia's teeth were visible through the rotted-away piece of her cheek.

"Impossible," the Faerie whispered as she took in Sera's gleaming, golden wings and significantly healthier-looking complexion. "You cannot be here."

Sera squared her shoulders defiantly and lifted her chin. "You told me that no power on earth could bring back the dead. That was a good tip, thanks. _Aut invenium viam aut faciam,_ remember?"

Veralysia's face twitched minutely, and then a shimmering tear slipped down her sunken cheek to disappear into the gaping hole in her flesh. "And you have found a way to take your Hunter back with you, child?"

"I have," Sera answered confidently.

"Then you must find him quickly," the Unseelie urged her, looking down at her own ravaged body. "Too well do I know the danger of staying in the Nightlands."

Sera shook her head. "I don't know how."

The wraith lifted her arm and laid a broken nail just above the shimmering bodice of the Shadowhunter's dress. "Follow your heart." She took her hand back and touched her own chest. "Never have I felt my Gwyn more strongly than now. Something has changed."

 _He might be slightly more dead than you remember,_ Sera thought guiltily. _But then again... maybe that's a good thing in a place like this._

Sera gathered up her memories of Rayce and held them tightly in her mind. Veralysia flickered in and out of focus, and she nodded knowingly. "Go to your Hunter, little Nephilim, and I will go to mine."

The Unseelie melted back into the night and Sera was alone once more.

"If she can do it, so can I," Sera whispered. She set her heart on her prince and reached for the connection between them than had allowed her to find him in her dreams.

The stars around her rushed and then blurred as she felt herself pulled through the darkness. She closed her eyes. _Just breathe._ _Have faith._

"Sera?" Rayce's awestruck voice flooded through every cell in her body and she felt her heart soar. She opened her eyes breathlessly.

Rayce stood immobile in the darkness with heavy chains hanging from manacles clapped around his wrists. The links trailed away into the night until they could no longer be seen.

"Rayce." She closed to distance between them and threw her arms around him. His hands came up hesitantly, dragging the chains as he encircled her waist.

"You... how... _wings,_ " he stammered, unable to handle the radiance of her angelic half without its Mortal shading.

She laughed, overjoyed to have found him, and nuzzled into the side of his neck. "Apparently, they're temporary, don't get used to them."

He found her lips with his own and kissed her deeply, drawing her closer. "You did it," he breathed in between kisses. "I can't believe you did it."

Sera tangled her fingers in his hair and smiled. "I'm not finished yet," she promised. She let her hands slide down his shoulders and then to where the chains held him bound on the wrong side of the veil. "It's a damn good thing I don't need a stele."

Twin Opening runes hissed into the manacles and blazed up in white fire. The links fell away silently into the night, and Rayce lifted his hands in wonder.

Sera kissed him fiercely and laid her right hand on his bare chest. "If anyone else wants a piece of you," she whispered as she lifted his right hand and set it over her heart, holding it there with her left, "they're going to have to go through me first."

A rune flared under the palm that lay flay against his chest, more powerful than anything she had been able to create in her Mortal form, and she felt its mate trace along her skin under Rayce's own hand. The feeling was unlike anything she had ever experienced before.

Euphoria raced through their bodies and ecstasy united them even as the runes began to take effect, binding their souls together to survive the journey back to their world going the wrong way along what was really intended to be a one-way path.

Aspen had achieved an imperfect bond with Hunter when she had tried to save his life during the destruction of Herondale Manor, but Hunter hadn't crossed over, not quite. Sera was banking on her strength and the new runes that they would both bear for the rest of their lives. She lowered her hands experimentally and gasped when she saw the topmost edge of the permanent rune over Rayce's heart.

The graceful curve that typically surrounded the Wedded Union rune now enclosed the stylized _ɱ_ that formed half of a Binding rune. She knew without looking that her own chest would now be Marked with the same piece of the Wedded Union rune cradling the _ᵱ_ of the Binding Rune.

"You are very fortunate," a man's voice called from behind Rayce, startling them out of the moment. Rayce whipped his head around and was shocked to see Gwyn outlined by the stars in the darkness. The big Faerie looked nearly solid, but he was somehow different than Rayce remembered.

Alarmed, he turned fully and kept himself in front of Sera, protecting her, wary of a trap. "Why are you still here, Gwyn?" He noted the lack of chains on the former Hunter.

The Unseelie shook his head faintly. "I'm not here for you, princeling. I was waiting for _her._ " His eyes drifted over Rayce's shoulder.

Rayce tensed to attack, but then felt Sera's restraining hand on his arm and heard her suck in a sharp intake of breath.

Veralysia had materialized silently and was gliding toward Gwyn with wonder in her black eyes. She covered her wasted mouth with her hand in disbelief when she saw her prince freed at last. When she drew level with him, he pushed a lock of her tangled hair away from her face.

"I could never have left without you," Gwyn told her quietly. She wept milky white tears and wrapped her bony arms around him gratefully. With an audible sigh, Veralysia let go of the last thread of life still tethering her to the Mortal world.

The first thing to change was her hair, darkening to glossy black from brittle white. Then her exposed flesh healed over and became whole once more, smoothing out to a soft alabaster that gleamed in the starlight. Her gown shed the ravages of the centuries and was restored to its rich, red velvety softness under Gwyn's hands until he once again held his Veralysia. She buried her face in his chest and let his massive arms fold around her.

Gwyn looked up at Rayce and nodded once. "I wish for you the happiness I once sacrificed, Rayce Morgenstern, but remember that what she has done," he lifted his chin toward Sera, "will come with a price." The pair of ancient Unseelie began to fade away as they moved on, but the Shadowhunters were just able to make out his parting words. " _Si vis pacem para bellum._ "

Sera blinked. " _Si vis_... 'If you'... what?" She looked up at Rayce. "Why the hell does everyone _except_ me speak Latin?"

Unsettled by what the Faerie's warning might mean, Rayce still managed to grin back at her. "We can ask Zeke when we get out of here. And I don't think you can say _hell_ while you have wings."

She harumph-ed back at him and arched her eyebrow. "Then we'd better get the hell out of here." She took Rayce's hands in her own. "Don't let go!"

"Never," he promised.

Sera set her mind back on the Mortal world and _pulled_ with all of her willpower against the drag of the underworld. She felt its resistance to letting go of its grip on Rayce, but half-dead still meant half-alive. Freed from the Hunt, and with his soul anchored to her own, he could no longer be held prisoner beyond the veil.

They hurtled toward the pinprick of light from one of the stars and watched it widen as they approached until they passed through its keyhole and back into their world at last.

Sera slammed back into her Mortal body, and unfortunately into the bedrock of the ritual site, painfully. She landed hard next to where Rayce was laying on his side and breathing raggedly with his eyes clenched shut. She gasped in fear and rolled him onto his back away from the cloak that had fallen from his shoulders when the clasp had been tricked into opening.

A pair of beautiful, deep green eyes fluttered open at her touch, and the ghost of a smile crossed his lips. "Sera..."

In one swift movement, she pulled the iron blade out of him and slapped her hand down over the wound she had left, blazing a powerful _iratze_ across his chest. The Mark she had given him in the Nightlands did not show in this world, but she could still feel her own half of the pair burning in her heart. What she done was more than skin-deep; she had Marked their very souls.

Rayce's breathing began to ease as the healing spread. The cloak had never been intended to be worn by a Nephilim, had never been intended to serve a master that could survive what would have been a mortal wound for any Faerie. Sera's carefully-placed knife had been dangerous enough to fool the cloak while not being serious enough to prevent her from healing him once its hold had been loosened.

Almost as if sensing Rayce's improved prognosis, the clasp twitched where it lay atop a fold of the cloak on the stone, anxious to reclaim him, but Sera snatched it before it could get any bright ideas.

"I don't think so."

As Luchaereon had once called upon his father in Hell to create the cloak, so too did Sera now call upon her own father in Heaven to balance the scales of good and evil and undo the power of the mantle forever.

A dazzling ripple of blazing fire snaked down through the shaft of light above her and struck the clasp. The metal hissed and melted as if acid had been dripped across its face, and then the cloak burned away like a message set aflame from one corner. Only ash remained to mark its passing.

Rayce's hand came up to rest weakly over her own and signal that he was going to be okay.

Sera's eyes shone in the fading glow of the golden runes all around her as the power of the circle fell back into its former dormancy with her mission complete. She looked over to where her tiny warlock friend was standing on what appeared, at first glance, to be a blank stretch of stone. Seraphine's back was arched, her head thrown back, eyes closed, and her arms were extended with her hands curled into claws as she fought to maintain control. One demonic glyph still burned scarlet.

Sera saw the last rune and immediately knew that the warlock had held on as long as she had to make sure that they got back safely, just in case.

"FINISH IT!" Sera screamed across the ritual site.

Seraphine's shaking hands clenched shut and she dropped her arms with a heavy sense of finality as she cried out in harsh Ergothian. The final sigil vanished in an oily puff of dark smoke and the vortex whipping around the warlock ceased. She swayed once and then collapsed, unconscious.

Several things happened at once then, and Sera could only watch in stunned amazement.

The three surviving cat demons screamed in unison and then folded in on themselves until they disappeared as they were forced out of the Mortal world. Some of Shadowhunters who had been fighting against them dropped their weapons in shock when they saw the ritual site without any trace of the blackened and burned ellipse. The golden dome of protection started to unravel as Magnus rushed down the slope to lift his new-found half-sister into his arms.

Rayce's fingers squeezed Sera's hand and her eyes darted back down to drink in the sight of him once again. He managed to lever himself up onto one elbow and then to his knees. She tried to push him back down, to force him to rest, but he shook off her concern.

"No, I can't wait any longer," he said hoarsely.

"Wait for what?" Sera asked, bewildered. "It's over."

He cupped her face in his hands, tracing her lips with one thumb as the other stroked down the curve of her jaw.

"I don't want this to be the end," he whispered. "I want it to be the beginning." He leaned in and kissed her softly. "Everything you've done... there's nothing I can ever do to match it."

"You don't-"

"Shh," he cut her off, kissing her again to steal away her words. "What you went through to get me back..." He struggled to find the right words. "I'm afraid that there's nothing I can ever do to prove that I love you as much as you love me."

"But-"

He didn't know if he was dizzy from blood loss or simply drunk on the memory of Sera's heavenly glory, but he couldn't take his hands away from her face, skimming across her cheek bones and then drawing her closer for more. He didn't ever want it to stop.

Rayce panted breathlessly between kisses as the cold began to settle in around them with Magnus' protection spell fading. He slid his hands into Sera's hair behind her neck and tugged the ring off the fourth finger of his right hand. It held no power over him now. Sebastian's memory had been laid to rest with his own ghosts, and he had accepted that he wasn't bound by his father's mistakes. But nor could he blame his father for whatever darkness was his own.

"I have nothing to give you," Rayce breathed in her ear, "nothing but a ring with a bad name and a promise that I'm going to spend the rest of my life at your side."

He drew back and held up the Morgenstern ring in the space between them. "Marry me, Sera," he pleaded with her. "I already know that life without you isn't living at all. I don't want to waste another minute without you."

Sera's smile almost hurt as tears slipped down her cheeks and she pulled him back in to kiss him again. "Yes," she laughed. "Yes, yes, yes, a thousand times, yes."

He laughed joyously with her, letting go of all of the terrible things that had happened while they had been parted.

 _Never again_ , he vowed.

"This means a fabulous wedding," Magnus threatened happily from where he had been eavesdropping. He threw his arms up in an inexplicable shower of glitter.

Seraphine cracked an eyelid just in time to get a face full of shimmering flakes. She sighed tiredly and closed her eyes again. "Why am I covered in glitter?"

"Because they're getting married!" he crowed.

"About time," she mumbled before drifting off again.

There was a stirring on the ridge where the Shadowhunters had gathered to look down on the site, and they parted to allow a pair of Nephilim to pass. One by one, they bowed their heads in respect, and a hush settled over the group.

Magnus rose to his feet with fear clamping down on the excitement in his heart. _My Alec..._

But his husband's tall frame crested the rise a moment later and he felt a wave of relief until Jace appeared, carrying a limp form in his arms. Numbness was stamped across both of their faces, and when Magnus met Alec's eyes, he knew.

He felt the pain like a punch in his chest and the last of his protective dome melted away to allow the icy wind to slice through his clothes. Warmth drained out of him and he felt a lump rise in his throat.

 _Tessa._


	22. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Later, Alec wouldn't be able to remember returning to the tiny cabin to find it heavily damaged by some of the flying demons that had evaded the Faerie warriors in the skies above. Hunter and Aspen had fought side-by-side with Jem to keep the creatures from getting inside once Magnus' protection spell had faded when he was out of range, and both teenagers were exhausted but elated at having gotten to fight.

When the onslaught had suddenly ceased, they had known it would only be a matter of time before the group returned. Alec was the first to push open the battered door that was barely hanging on by one frozen hinge.

Jem rose from the couch expectantly, eyes bright with excitement for what must have been a success.

Alec felt a lump rise in his throat. _I can't do this._

"Jem..." he began, reaching out to rest his hand on the other man's shoulder tentatively. Others started filtering in behind him, still quiet out of deference.

The former Silent Brother's eyes darkened as a shadow of fear crept across his face. "Where is she?"

Alec looked down, and Jem shook the hand from his shoulder. "What happened, Alec?"

"I-" the Consul hesitated.

"It was my fault," Jace said quietly as he stepped inside. Tessa's form looked even smaller in the gear she had been wearing to complete her role as a decoy for him. The chest piece had shifted while he had walked back across the island, and the terrible wound was no longer visible. He cradled her carefully against his body and dared to look up and meet Jem's eyes.

Devastation froze Jem's face into a mask. He crossed the space between them woodenly and reached out to take his wife from Jace, unwilling to believe that she was gone. She was light in his arms, but it was the weight of his grief that made him sink to his knees. He clutched her tightly to his chest and rocked back and forth in mute horror.

All of the Shadowhunters bowed their heads. Death was part of their life, but it never got easier to witness the anguish of one of their own.

" _Ave,_ " Clary whispered as a tear rolled down her cheek. The warlock had been so much more than a friend to her for more than half of her life. She couldn't even imagine Jem's pain.

" _Ave."_ Murmurs rippled around the room as others paid their respects not only to the half-Shadowhunter, but to the eight other warriors who lay in the snow outside the cabin to await their final rites in Alicante.

After a minute of silence, Alec turned to address the shivering group. "We can't stay here any longer," he said quietly. The broken glass of the windows, the rents in the roof, and the door were only the physical reasons they needed to leave. The Shadow World had been rocked to its core and the survivors needed answers. They would look to the Clave for guidance, but from Cartwright's assessment, the city was nearly deserted, and Sera had already admitted that even Everett was out of the picture, locked in a cell under the Gard.

Diego straightened up. "You're going back, aren't you?" The Executor was no longer a pristine vision of Centurion excellence in his shredded gear, but he still held his head high.

"We're going home," Alec confirmed.

"Do you think they will accept you?"

"I have to try."

The Centurion offered his hand to Alec and clasped it tightly. "You're more than they deserve, Consul." He pulled him into a quick embrace and then stepped back and gestured to his surviving fighters. "We will return to the Scholomance. What you have done here will not be forgotten – we will see to it that others know the truth."

Clary had already pulled out her stele and made an apologetic look at Aline before setting its tip to the south-facing wall of the main room. All three warlocks were far too exhausted to open a Portal right now, and so she sketched the rune she had created so many years ago and watched the lines spread until a gateway had opened.

Once the Centurions were safely away, Clary lifted an eyebrow at Alec. "We can't Portal back into Alicante without clearance, what do you want to do? Herondale Manor and then walk?"

The Consul looked stumped until Jon's face brightened.

"I have clearance," he said in a faintly surprised tone. "The whole reason we came was to arrest anyone up here and bring them back for questioning. The Gard Portal is ready for us to come back through any time now."

Simon snorted. "Very decent of Everett to accidentally roll out the welcome mat for us. I'll have to send him one of those edible arrangements or something."

"Where will we stay?" Clary asked. "Our homes were destroyed in the fires-"

"Our place," Izzy cut in. "There weren't any repairs to be made by the previous owners after the Dark War. It might still be okay." Her brother nodded in agreement and Clary shrugged her acceptance. She was more than a little worried about her husband's continued silence.

At Alec's command, Jon and Cinder tactfully arranged for their team to bear the dead with a little help from Rafe, Hunter, and Jace. Everyone else began readying themselves to leave and checking that they had everything they had come with.

"Steven," Sera sighed as she remembered her friend who was still quite possibly sleeping in the bedroom. She made a mental note to inform him that he had almost slept through the end of the world,

"I'll get him," Rayce offered immediately, disappearing through the doorway.

"I can't believe you guys brought a Mundane," Simon said while shaking his head. "That's awesome."

Sera smiled back at him. "I'm getting the strangest feeling that you two are going to get along famously."

"Speaking of getting along famously," he added with a nod at where Seraphine was leaning up against Magnus tiredly on the loveseat. "I didn't see that coming. Did _you?_ "

"Nope," Sera admitted. "I never really wanted to pry and ask why her condo was warded so hard, but I guess if your father is a Greater Demon with a penchant for snacking on his kids, it seems like a pretty good idea. I just kind of figured that she was really fed up with telemarketers or something."

"I don't think there's enough magic in this world to ever be free of them," Simon said darkly as Clary's Portal connected to the Gard and the entire thing shimmered faintly to welcome them home.

Their return was something of a blur in Alec's mind. Jon and his team took the dead to be properly cared for until they could be cremated in Shadowhunter tradition. Not even Marisol put up a protest at being left behind. They promised to check on Everett and the others Rayce had left imprisoned in the cells, and Jon vowed that justice would be served.

Carolina and Marcos Monteverde shook hands with Alec and used the Portal to finally return to the Buenos Aires Institute. They swore that they would be back to help in any way they could as soon as they were able to get their enclave on its feet.

Once the Consul's group was clear of the confusing hallways that protected the exact location of the Gard's Portal, it was a bit of a shock to see the devastation of the city outside. As Cartwright had promised, the darkened streets were deserted, and if anyone took note of the unusual group threading its way toward Simon and Isabelle's narrow, three-storey home off Princewater canal, no alarm was raised.

The honey-coloured stone and red-tiled roof were dirtied from the soot and ash that had filled the air, but the home looked undamaged. Others had not been so fortunate. The burnt-out ruins of at least a half dozen houses hunkered down in their foundations, and they made Alec feel sick. _So much destroyed_ , he lamented. _But there's so much more to rebuild if I can just help them understand._

Simon pushed open the door of his home and was immediately attacked by a dark shadow that shot across the tiled entry and flung itself at his chest.

"Yossarian!" Simon's face lit up as he peeled his cat off for a proper hug. "Third of his name, Lord of Laziness and Warden of the Pantry; we're going to have to add another title. Looks like you're going to get _The Unburnt,_ too."

"Please, no," Izzy muttered.

"I can't believe the only reason I was even in Alicante the day Sera and Rayce broke out was that I was here to feed your damn cat," Clary huffed as she kicked off her boots. "We never would have even met."

"I believe it," Sera said absently under her breath, still in awe of what her father had shown her. She pushed the memories aside; they were still too much to handle right now.

"Where's Jem?" Helen asked suddenly, scanning the faces coming through the door. "He was right behind us..." But the ex-Silent Brother had vanished with his wife's body to grieve alone.

"Give him time," Magnus said quietly.

An awkward silence settled over the group for a moment until Isabelle threw up her hands. "I have no idea where everyone's going to sleep. Magnus?"

The warlock sighed and wiggled his fingers impotently without a trace of his trademark blue magic. "I couldn't summon so much as a chintz chair right now, sweetheart. I'm officially off-duty until further notice."

Aspen grinned and patted his arm. "Don't worry, we've got this." With a little help from Hunter, Max, and Rafe, they had soon transformed the living room into a mass of couch cushions, pillows, and blankets salvaged from all over the house.

"Best sleepover _ever_ ," Aspen sighed as she flopped down a few feet away from where Rayce was pushing his pillow closer to Sera's. With eyes only for Sera, he remained blissfully ignorant of his cousin, and was completely taken by surprise when Hunter wedged himself into the space between his parabatai and the half-Faerie.

"No homo, bro," Hunter reassured a bewildered Rayce.

"Excuse me?" Magnus raised his voice and paused on his way upstairs.

Hunter turned scarlet. "Um... nothing."

"Mmhmm. You're lucky I'm running on empty right now." The warlock disappeared up the steps after the older Shadowhunters to claim one of the three bedrooms, but called back down, "I'm sleeping in your room tonight, and you'd better pray that I don't open any of your doll boxes."

"They're _action figures_! And don't you dare!" Hunter panted nervously until Aspen elbowed him in a huff about losing her spot next to Rayce.

"He's just kidding, don't be a spaz."

One by one, everyone dropped off into sleep as exhaustion claimed them. The house gradually quieted and witchlights extinguished until there was only a single line of light under one of the doors upstairs.

Jace slipped out of bed and padded down the hallway in an old pair of his brother-in-law's Star Wars pajama pants. He gently turned the knob on Simon's office door and was utterly unsurprised to find Alec haloed by the desk lamp and writing quietly.

"Are you ever going to sleep?" Jace asked after closing the door behind himself.

Alec shook his head ruefully. "There's so much to do now."

"Can't it wait?"

"Not this time."

Jace sighed and ran his hands back through his blond hair until he was tugging at the back of his neck with his fingers laced. "You know, this is going to kill me to admit, but I think Rosales might have been right."

"About what?"

"You're more than we deserve."

In the morning, Alec found himself back in the Consul's office with a knot in his stomach. He wasn't entirely sure that he should be here, but it was the only way to reach as many people as he possibly could without spending the next month Portalling all over the world.

"No, it goes _this_ way," Jace hissed under his breath at Simon as the two of them fiddled with the knobs on the projection unit.

"Look, _one_ of us was an A.V. guy in high school, and I _don't_ think it was _you._ "

Magnus reached up to smooth down the collar of his husband's white mourning jacket. Beautiful scarlet runes that spoke of sorrow and healing circled the cuffs, but they never failed to remind Alec of his little brother, Max.

"Stop fidgeting, pigeon, there's only so much I can do to make you look like you've slept at some point in the last decade," Magnus fussed. "If you'd _just_ let me use some concealer, I have it in-"

"No," Alec cut him off gently. He flashed his famous Lightwood smile when he saw Magnus' face fall, crestfallen. "You always tell me I look perfect, anyway."

Completely boxed in by simple logic, Magnus had no arguments left to use, and could only huff in disapproval. He caught sight of Jace and Simon still prodding the projector and he snapped his fingers at them in warning. "Do _not_ touch that. In fact," he made shooing motions at them, "get away from it entirely."

Alec stood behind the Consul's desk and cleared his throat as Magnus trained the lens on him and started counting down silently from five with his upraised hand. _This is it._ He looked down at the speech notes he had brought with him and realized he didn't need them anymore.

"Citizens of the Shadow World, please forgive me for addressing you like this while there is still so much uncertainty within the Clave, but the events of last night are far more important than the political machinations of our government. This projection is being sent to every Institute and Downworld hub that I can reach because this message isn't just for the Nephilim. It's for every soul that fought against demons not only last night, but at any time in the last thousand years."

The soft hum of the projector was the only other sound in the office, and Alec felt his nerves calm.

"First, I want to thank anyone who responded to the warnings from Wrangel Island, local Institutes, or from vigilant Downworlders. Your swift actions, no doubt, saved countless innocent lives. This has been a difficult time for Shadowhunters as we recover from the Unseelie sabotage of Alicante, and it is a testament to our combined strength that we were able to withstand the demon attacks despite our troubles.

"I'm not sure if I am even still properly your Consul, and I know that it seems presumptuous of me to speak on your behalf, but please accept my assurances that I _will_ stand trial for the accusations that Everett Whitelock brought against me. Your interim Consul is currently residing in the prison cells under the Gard while Jon Cartwright and Cinder Whitescar file charges against him in collaboration with a third-party witness for alleged gross misconduct during his brief time in office. Tribunals will be called to hear both cases fairly."

Sera had asked for her name to be left out of his address, and he had agreed immediately. He had a feeling that she was going to have enough questions to answer without having to explain why Everett had been after her. He had warned her that she would still be called to testify, and she had nodded in understanding.

"Last night, myself and dozens of other Shadowhunters, along with some of our Downworlder allies, bore witness to an incredible event that took place on Wrangel Island..." As he provided a succinct account that briefly touched on the original discovery of the ritual site three years ago and had sparked so much debate by the Council, then carried the story forward to include why the demons had been able to get through in greater numbers than any time since the Mortal War, he still felt the same awe that had filled him when Sera had told her tale the first time. She had been uncharacteristically quiet about whatever had happened to her inside the circle of seraphic runes, but he felt confident that she would share her experience if given some time and space.

"This morning, we woke in a world that may now be more strongly protected by its wardings than it has been since the Incursion. This could give us incredible potential for change, and I urge every available Shadowhunter to return to Alicante at their earliest convenience for the election of a new Inquisitor and Consul in one week's time, after our dead have been honoured and given their final rites. We must have a united Clave to move forward, and it will be their task to commission a multi-disciplinary team to study the magic of the wards with the goal of verifying our hopes and confirming that those who died gave their lives for a new future."

Helen and Aline had given him the idea about assembling a team to investigate what had been done by Seraphine, and they had both been absolutely adamant that they would lead anyone who could be enticed into coming. Alec had been startled. He had promised to push for their long exile to come to an end now that they had far exceeded any expectation of them on the island. In return, he had received an indulgent, thankful smile from Helen and a smack in the back of his head from Aline as she scoffed, ' _Lift the exile if you want, but you'd better get our house fixed so we can show those idiots around up there.'_

He fixed the camera with a serious, earnest look that he hoped could convey the burning conviction in his heart that this is what he had been working toward his entire life.

" _This_ is our chance, our moment to shape the next thousand years for generations of Shadowhunters to come, to lay the foundation of a better world not just for ourselves, but for Downworlders and Nephilim together." A tear shimmered in his eye, but he managed to hold it back.

"I want to work with you, and _for_ you, but if we cannot achieve unity with myself as your Consul, then I will gladly step aside and lend my support to whomever you elect in my stead. This is bigger than any one of us, and we cannot allow this opportunity to slip through our fingers for misplaced pride. I have dedicated my life to serving our people, and it would be a honour and a privilege to continue doing so, but I can find other ways to help if you no longer have confidence in my leadership. Please come and let your voice be heard in one week."

The projector clicked off and Alec heard everyone else in the office let out their breath in a collective _whoosh_.

Clary flew across the room and reached up to throw her arms around his neck. "I wish Luke could have been here for this," she whispered fiercely, no longer even trying to hold back her tears. Alec felt a pang of sadness for the Shadowhunter-turned-werewolf. Luke had never lost the passion for change that had been awakened inside him during the aftermath of the Mortal War and the concession of Council seats to Downworlders.

 _I'm going to get more than that_ , Alec silently promised his old friend.

"You're actually going to let them put you on trial for that crap from before?" Jace asked incredulously.

" _Sed lex dura lex,_ " Alec said with a wink over Clary's head, causing his husband to throw up his hands in disgust and mutter about never wanting to hear those words again. "I seem to remember you saying that you couldn't wait to get to the part where they realized how goddamn wrong they were. I get the feeling that we've made some new friends since I was removed from office, and I doubt that Everett's supporters are going to cling to a sinking ship. I want to do this properly. I don't want anyone to be able to question my authority to lead if I can get re-elected."

Jace's eyebrows almost disappeared into his fair hair. "Do you actually think they would choose someone else?"

"Well," Alec speculated thoughtfully as Clary let go of him, "you _do_ love to remind me that we're surrounded by idiots. Who knows?"

Baelerithon woke with a start from the nightmares that never failed to find him when he chanced to close his eyes. He groaned as he rolled over the stumps of his wings uncomfortably to lay on his back and stare up at the unchanging sky of deep Faerie in the clearing that served as his living prison. His ribs showed under the faded, deep-blue skin of his torso, and weakness had spread through his body. How long had it been since Rayce had left him? _Days? Months? Years?_ Time moved strangely here.

As always, thinking about his brother ignited a spark of fury inside him. Rayce had been right; the Eternal Forest _was_ a capricious companion. Bael still had no idea how his brother could have known so much about the Forest, but he could feel the malevolent presence that polluted the trees. It had seemed curious and strangely pleased to find the disgraced prince chained and unable to escape its attention. It had probed at his mind slowly to learn more about its new playmate, and Bael didn't doubt for a moment that his nightmares were a byproduct of that unwanted connection.

Eager not to lose its new friend too quickly, the Forest had done just as Rayce had predicted. The first tentative feeding of ley magic had shocked Bael out of his wasting melancholy and he had suckled eagerly at the power. It tasted vile, a bitter poison that was at once thrilling and sickening. He had quickly learned to draw his own thin trickles of sustenance, and it was enough to keep him alive even as it bound him more tightly to the Forest. He had no idea if the other half of his brother's prediction would come true, if he would become no more than a morsel to be snapped up if the Forest grew hungry.

Almost as if sensing his thoughts, thin creepers rustled through the purple and red grass around the Faerie. He sat up swiftly and whipped his head from side to side to watch the advance of the trailers as they snaked toward him. This had never happened before.

 _Baelerithon._ He heard his name in a breath of wind. The first tendrils reached him and slid over his shoulders then down his arms lightly as he sat paralyzed with revulsion. He tried to block out the memories of Kratus' final moments in Rayce's grasp as the doomed Faerie had been forced into one of the trees. His screams had echoed agonizingly as he had been drawn into the bark, and a flash of fear ripped through Bael as he imagined what it would feel like.

 _Baelerithon._ The voice sounded almost playful, like it was amused by his terror. Thin curls at the very tips of the creepers slipped into the locks of his chains until they burst. The heavy links hissed as they dissolved into the grass.

He blinked, stunned. _What's happening? Matias was bound for centuries._ More tendrils reached up and caressed the side of his face as thicker ones started to push him to his feet. He felt himself stumble toward the edge of the trees and terror gripped him again. _No!_

 _Baelerithon._ A chiding edge to the whisper made him flinch away from the touch of the Forest, but the creepers kept him moving forward. It wasn't until he was past the first trunk that he allowed himself to exhale. He limped out of the clearing and left Matias' grave behind him for good.

 _Baelerithon._ He heard the call again and felt a twinge of excitement in his gut. It drew him on eagerly, urgently. Today was not the day the Forest decided to consume him. It had a very different plan in mind.

The landscape blurred past him as he staggered through the trees in a daze back toward the outer edge with only the strange whispers to guide his steps.

 _Baelerithon. Baelerithon. Baelerithon._ One tree stood apart from the others, and the tiny cracks in its trunk burned brightly with blue-white ley energy as if it was fit to burst. The light throbbed and pulsed like a living thing. Bael drifted to a halt at the base of the tree and waited. The whispers grew quiet and he understood that this was where they had been leading him.

 _Baelerithon._ The voice crooned his name seductively, like a lover, and he shivered. His brother's damning words washed over him again, ' _Let madness be your mother, emptiness your only friend, and loneliness your wedded partner.'_

A pair of slim branches dipped down into the fresh buds and new leaves that were spreading from the heart of the tree as it digested its most recent victim. Bael leaned forward expectantly and held his breath as the growth unfolded like the petals of a flower.

Nestled in a bed of blood-red leaves was an ancient, bronze crown that gleamed in the pale light.

Slow, disbelieving laughter bubbled up in Baelerithon's throat as he lifted the familiar circlet in wonder. _Impossible!_ He brushed his thumb across the scuffed surface and felt his mind come alive with possibilities, and what needed to be done to take advantage of this gift.

He was so preoccupied that he didn't notice when the voice in his mind stopped whispering his name and took up a new chant instead.

 _Vengeance._

The fading rays of the sunset painted the white stucco walls of the Spanish revival home a brilliant orange. Red terracotta roof tiles cooled slowly as another scorching day came to a close and shadows stretched across the parched lawn to offer relief. A faded red minivan was parked in the driveway and lights glowed in the front windows.

Kieran's lip curled up involuntarily when he saw the silhouettes inside and heard laughter drift out through the open shutters. He pulled at the collar of his untucked dress shirt uncomfortably and loosened the narrow, dark tie. Finding Mundane attire that would be considered suitably formal for the occasion had been a challenge, and he found that he did not care for it at all. The black trousers were far too warm for this hellish climate and he had thrown away the constrictive jacket immediately. He had not even even deigned to attempt to acquire the ridiculous shoes that were required. Mark would forgive him for their absence if the rest of his effort was sufficient.

 _Mark_. The name tugged at Kieran's heart with a sweet ache. _My Mark._ When he had felt the fetters of the Hunt fade away in the frigid air over that island at the edge of the world he couldn't believe it. The others had paused, stunned as he had been, but then they had disappeared into the night without a trace. Where they had gone, he did not know nor care. His only thought had been that now he was free as he had never been before to find the Shadowhunter boy once more.

He had carefully washed himself clean of the Hunt, scrubbing away the earth from his feet and untangling his blue-black hair with a sort of slow ritual that had sent him spiralling inward on a self-reflective journey that had brought his most cherished memories back to life. The feel of Mark's strong but delicate hand upon his chest in the pale dawn. The smell of the wind in Mark's hair as they lay entwined under a single blanket. The exact shades of blue-green and gold in his eyes when he laughed.

This was his chance to start over, to be a better man, the kind of man that Mark deserved. He brushed away a few stray strands of hair that were lightening even as thoughts of Mark lifted his heart. _Nothing will come between us again_.

Lights in the front of the house went dark and the voices moved toward the back. He heard a girl-child's voice squeal and excitedly beg for 'the prince story'. The sound of Mark's indulgent amusement cut through Kieran with razor-sharp memories of a hundred nights of sweet pleading followed by slow surrender. Goosebumps raced down the back of his neck despite the waning heat.

 _How could I have ever thought I could replace you?_ Bitter images of Rayce Morgenstern flitted across his mind's eye and he clenched his right hand closed reflexively. He supposed that he should be quite satisfied with himself; if he hadn't have lured Rayce into challenging Gwyn for the mantle, he may never have been freed from the Hunt. The Shadowhunter's dangerous mate had done the impossible and broken the cloak's power, but neither of them had considered what that might mean for the others held prisoner by its magic.

Kieran's silver and black eyes glittered in the twilight as he moved around to the darkened backyard to keep an eye on the shadows inside. He had been watching for several nights now, and he knew that once the young ones were asleep, Mark would come outside alone to gaze up into the night sky. Then it would be a simple thing to capture him once more. A touch here, a brush of his gift there, and Mark would fall back in love with him again.

 _Together forever._ The brats and his Shadowhunter princess would soon be forgotten, nothing else would matter. This life would fade into the past like nothing more than a bad dream.

And there were other ways to achieve the same end, if Mark had fallen too deeply into his Mundane masquerade. Easy enough to arrange for an... _accident_... while Kieran had a clean alibi, to leave no blood on his hands. He was certain that if needed, there may be one or two among his former brothers who might be persuaded to enjoy a bit of sport with an ex-Shadowhunter and a few Mundane children.

He let his imagination linger on the tantalizing possibilities as he moved silently toward the back of the house on bare feet through the dying grass. Cheap plastic toys littered the lawn, and he avoided them with a twinge of annoyance. _Such triviality_. It was beneath the two of them.

"...and then the handsome prince carried his one true love away from the evil dragon's lair so that they could live together happily ever after." The alluring lilt of Mark's voice finished the story and a girl sighed with dramatic happiness, and maybe a bit of impatience.

"How much longer do I have to wait for _my_ prince to come, daddy?"

Kieran felt his heart lurch in his chest when he heard the low chuckle that followed.

"Do you live in a dragon's lair, Esmeralda?"

 _Yes,_ Kieran answered sourly in his mind.

The child giggled, and then shrieked with delight as Mark tickled her. He growled, teasing, "Am I a big, scary dragon?"

"Daddy, no!" She laughed breathlessly until her father relented, and then she wriggled back down under the covers so that he could tuck her in properly.

He nuzzled her favourite stuffed cat into her neck and let her wrap her arms around it before he leaned down to kiss her forehead and then withdrew to the doorway. "Maybe you won't need a prince to save you," he said quietly as he clicked off the light. "Maybe you will do the saving."

Excitement fluttered in Kieran's heart. _It won't be long now._

He only had a split second to hear the whistle of a whip slicing through the air before it coiled tightly around his neck and he was jerked backwards off his feet. Thrashing voicelessly at the end of the cord, he was hauled toward the hedge that lined the side of the property. A dark figure dropped down on his chest, straddling him and pinning his arms to his sides. He felt the flat of a cool blade press against his neck as the pressure from the whip eased.

"You just can't stop trying to ruin people's lives, can you?"

A very dim glow bloomed from a witchlight in a woman's hand, and Kieran gagged when he saw that it was the Shadowhunter who had broken the Hunt's power. She was scantily clad in some sort of short, black, silky night gown, but her golden eyes were hard as she stared down at him, completely unconcerned with her state of undress. She looked like she had just rolled out of bed.

Kieran glared back at her and watched the hand that held the handle of the iron throwing knife. He spit in her face contemptuously. "You dumb bitch," he swore, "cold iron holds no power over the Faeries of the Hunt."

"Hmm," Sera dropped the witchlight and slapped her hand over his mouth just as she plunged the knife down into his shoulder joint with the other. Kieran's mismatched eyes bulged and he bucked frantically under her in agony. "Looks like it works just fine," she observed coldly.

His furious stare bored into her, filled with deadly promise, but she wasn't afraid. She leaned over him, pressing down to muffle the noise he was making. "Unfortunately for you, I owe Mark Blackthorn a favour. Fortunately for me, I already didn't like you. You're poison, Kieran of the Hunt."

He panted heavily through his nose to catch his breath. _This can't be happening!_

"The difference between me and Rayce is that he's a lot more forgiving than I am," Sera whispered over his struggles. "You won't be hurting anyone else ever again."

She pulled the dagger free and sliced it across his throat in one smooth cut. His blood spilled out in a dark gush, and she shoved herself off his chest away from the mess before it could touch her.

The house remained almost completely dark as she dragged the dead Faerie back toward where she had come through her Portal in a rush. She opened a new gateway to Veralysia's deserted cavern and rolled the body through, then doubled over for a moment as a flash of weakness went through her.

 _Have to be more careful_ , she chided herself.

Sera slipped back to Alicante a few minutes later, just moments before Mark Blackthorn stepped out his back door and gently closed it behind him to look up at the stars alone.

The day after the big election in Alicante was the best day of Sera's life.

The evening was coming to a gentle close under a loose canopy of fairy lights in an orchard of peach trees that smelled like a slice of Heaven. As the current leading expert on what Heaven may or may not smell like, she felt confident in her assessment. Strings of tiny, twinkling bulbs were wound around the trunks of the fruit trees and criss-crossed through the boughs overhead above a beautiful table.

She had been more than a little apprehensive about letting Magnus take the reins to pull together a wedding in only a week while he was still grieving for Tessa, but he had been insistent that he was up to the task. As the preparations had progressed in a whirlwind, Sera had noted with a twinge of sadness that this might have been his way of coping with his grief, that creating happiness was saving him from drowning in sorrow.

An orchard outside of the small town of Colmar in France had been transformed into an elegant wonderland for the occasion. Gleaming white china shone amidst the careful arrangements of scarlet flowers, and contrasted sharply with the simple black tablecloths. Sera was pretty sure that she recognized red lilies and some roses, but she had no idea what most of them were. Magnus had seemed thrilled, so she had given him a wide smile and told him that they were lovely. Champagne bubbled in crystal flutes and accented the touches of gold shot through the decorations.

The ceremony had been very short and simple. Despite the alarming amount of work on his desk following his landslide re-election, Alec had taken the evening off to preside over their marriage, and Sera had found comfort in his steady presence. Her hands had trembled for a moment as she had pressed the wedding runes over Rayce's heart and on his arm, and her stomach had fluttered nervously when she felt him trace the same Marks on her own skin with her mother's stele.

Rayce looked... transformed. Somewhere along the way, Magnus had convinced him that his nearly shoulder-length hair was "very 90s" and now it was much shorter, no longer disguising his fey heritage. But it was more than that. Dressed in the gold-runed, black ceremonial gear that Shadowhunter men traditionally wore for weddings, he had shaken free of the mantle of the Hunt. He had been surrounded by family and friends during the last week, and Sera had worried that he might withdraw from them. Instead, he had thrown himself into life in Alicante with zeal. He was discovering a new side of himself and finding that it suited him well.

Sera snuck a peek down at the pale gold, strapless, sweetheart neckline dress that was molded to every line of her body until the bottom flared out in gossamer folds of chiffon. The intricate, almost floral, pattern of beading across the bodice was completely unlike anything she had ever chosen for herself, but she secretly liked it. Magnus hadn't had to twist her arm very hard to get her into the dress to continue bringing his vision to life.

Further down from where she was seated at the head of the table next to Rayce, Sera could see her best friend laughing with Magnus. Seraphine had been very good-natured about standing in as a bridesmaid, and she looked very chic in a stylish, strapless red dress that she had chosen without _too_ much supervision. The irises of her eyes still glowed faintly in a deep crimson ring that had not faded since leaving Wrangel Island. She claimed that she wasn't worried about what it might mean, but had also promised to start looking into it after the wedding. Magnus had speculated that handling that amount of power couldn't leave her unchanged, and it would be up to the two of them to discover what that change might be.

In the meantime, Seraphine was cheerfully raising a triangle of what had to be a cucumber sandwich in a silent toast to Rayce. He caught the gesture and laughed out loud, his smile wide and genuine. Sera's heart ached to see him like this.

The table was buzzing with conversation. Jace had come straight from Alicante earlier than afternoon with grim news.

While Alec had been quickly cleared of all charges earlier in the week, Everett's trial had not gone well for him. Sera had gathered her courage and revealed herself to the tribunal sitting in judgement. She had testified against him, and evidence had been brought forward by Jon Cartwright and Cinder Whitescar to support the accusations levelled against the interim Consul. The damning discovery of Maellartach in the Consul's office once Sera had confessed that it had been used against her had been a critical blow for Everett. The Silent City had been contacted, and they had confirmed that they had not authorized the removal of the Soul-Sword for any sort of questioning. Emboldened by the tribunal's reaction to the news, Sera had volunteered to give her testimony with the Sword in hand.

The warlock brothers, Kai and Kaden, had been dismissed from their Council seat in the wake of the trial. As they had been working at the direction of the interim Consul at the time, their role in Sera's unlawful imprisonment had been narrowly deemed negligent at best. They had both forsworn any knowledge of what the rune-nulled cell might be used for, and had been adamant that they had been simply acting on orders to fulfil the unusual request, and could not be held accountable for what was done with the magic after it was invoked. Magnus had made some _very_ disagreeable noises after hearing that.

After a short period of deliberation, the tribunal had unanimously agreed to sentence Everett to Stripping and exile for both his extreme dereliction of duty as Consul, which may have contributed to hundreds of preventable deaths in Cairo and Buenos Aires, and for his gross misconduct in the unlawful arrest, interrogation, and torture of a Shadowhunter. He had been silent as they had led him back down to the cells, stunned perhaps that things could have spiralled so far out of hand.

That morning, when the guards had gone to retrieve Everett and take him to have his sentence carried out, they had found his body hanging lifelessly in his cell from a crude noose of braided strips from the loose pants he had worn as a prisoner. He had been buried unceremoniously at a crossroads outside of the city without the final rites.

Alec rose from his seat on her right and gently tapped his glass to signal that he wanted to speak. The table quieted, and Sera pulled her mind away from Everett's fate.

"I think I'm all speeched-out this week," Alec started, garnering a few chuckles from around the table, "but I have just enough hot air left to say a few words to the newlyweds."

He lifted his glass of champagne and looked down at Rayce and Sera. "To be quite honest, there are really only two words that I can put together. _Thank you._ Both of you. I was there and I still can't believe it. You've given all of us a gift beyond reckoning."

With his free hand, he reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and tugged a fat envelope of thick parchment free to hand to the couple. "It was surprisingly easy to convince the Council to grant me the power to leave this in your hands as a beginning of our thanks for everything you've done."

Rayce slid a heavy sheaf of parchment out of the envelop and his mouth fell open. Sera leaned over to read the scrawling lines of elegant calligraphy and she gasped in surprise. Both of them stared up at the Consul.

"The Clave has been sitting on the deed to Morgenstern Manor for quite some time, and as you can probably imagine, they've never had an interested buyer. It might need some work, but I think you'll have plenty of help if you're interested."

Clary, Jace, Magnus, Simon, and Izzy were all grinning at the twin looks of disbelief on Rayce and Sera's faces. They had known what Alec was trying for.

"I can come every day until school starts to help clean or paint or _anything_ ," Aspen promised Rayce from further down the table.

As the newlyweds tried to stammer their thanks, Alec smiled back at them. "Neither of you had the chance to grow up in Idris, but it's your home, too, and I want you to feel welcome." He lifted his glass to the table once more. "To new beginnings."

"New beginnings," the guests murmured in one voice as they drank to his toast.

As the plates quickly emptied and the light continued to fade in a brilliant sunset of orange and pink and red, Magnus stood up and clapped his hands. "It's time to dance, darlings."

"I don't see a piano," Jace complained, peering into the next row of the orchard where a small dance floor had been put together under another dangling canopy of softly glowing golden lights. "How am I supposed to play Chopin if you didn't bring a piano? That's my _thing._ "

Magnus poked a finger at him. "You're not. I'm thinking something a little more _lively_." He snapped his fingers and the energetic opening of Barry Manilow's _Copacabana_ pumped out of the sound system in the corner of the dance floor. A pair of maracas appeared in his hands and he shook them in Jace's face defiantly. " _Olé!"_

Rafe and Max immediately followed their father through the trees with Aspen and Hunter right behind them in an impromptu conga line, singing along with the lyrics.

"Oh, _yes,_ " Sera cheered. She pushed her chair back and lifted up the hem of her dress so that she could dash through the line of fruit trees to join in the fun. Not to be outdone, Jace marched over, shrugging out of his jacket so that he could roll up his sleeves and slick back his hair in preparation for what might become a dance-off.

Rayce watched her go with his heart soaring. Most of the guests had abandoned the table to see what would happen on the dance floor, and he took the opportunity to stop by the side table of drinks that was doubling as a gift table. He poured himself a fresh glass of wine and sipped at it as he looked down at the small assortment of presents in wonder.

 _A Morgenstern wedding,_ he thought, shaking his head. _Who could have ever imagined it?_ He was curious about the medium-sized parcel with no sender, but it was a long, slim box that had been expertly tied with a gold ribbon that made him hesitate. He flipped over the tag. It read simply, " _Love, Clary."_ He looked up and found his aunt watching him from beside one of the peach trees with a flute of champagne in her hand. She took a quick drink and started forward to join him.

"Open it," Clary said mischievously, her green eyes sparkling in the twinkling lights that ran through the boughs overhead. She could hear Jace laughing hysterically over the racing music as Alec was coerced into an impromptu salsa lesson by his husband. That would keep them entertained for a while.

"Wouldn't that be considered rude?" Rayce asked tentatively. He didn't know much about weddings, but it felt like the sort of thing to do after the guests had left. Or the sort of thing to do with his wife. _Wife._ His heart leaped. At the moment, though, Sera seemed to be doubled over with Jace as they roared with laughter while watching the fiasco on the dance floor.

"It would be rude to disrespect your elders, okay? Just open the damn thing." Clary took hold of one end of the ribbon and pulled, taking the decision out of his hands.

Rayce lifted the lid carefully and let out a tiny exclamation of surprise when he saw the sword laying on a bed of red velvet inside the case. Finely-crafted with a hilt of black gold and adamas, a pattern of black stars trailed down the darkened silver length of the blade.

"Heosphoros," she pronounced quietly. "It's a Morgenstern blade, and it should be in Morgenstern hands." She paused and looked back at where Jace was pulling a protesting Sera onto the dance floor, presumably to demonstrate how to properly dance the salsa. Shaking her head, she turned back to face her nephew. "I know you've got your fancy staff thing, but I think this would be just right for the newest Morgenstern, wouldn't you agree?"

 _Heosphoros._ Rayce knew the name, knew the story; knew how it had ended. He hesitated over the gift with mixed emotions.

Clary reached out and gently touched the back of his hand. "You can say no. It won't hurt my feelings. I know this can't be easy-"

"No, you're right," he said quickly. "This is a blade that has been touched by heavenly fire. What better weapon for Sera?" He slipped his other hand over Clary's. "I know it's not my place, and that I had nothing to do with it, but I just wanted you to know that I forgive you for what you had to do with this, just as I hope you can forgive me for what my father did."

Tears welled up in Clary's eyes as she looked at her nephew, seeing a different pair of green eyes that had already forgiven her in death. "He gave us _you_ , Rayce. He never knew it, but he gave us all a chance we never thought we would get. That's what I want to remember. That's what the world needs to remember as the Morgenstern legacy."

Lost for words, Rayce gently closed the lid of the box and hugged his aunt. "Thank you."

They heard a throat clear behind Clary and looked up to see Zeke standing awkwardly with his arms folded across the light, sandy-coloured vest he was wearing over a white dress shirt. He had loosened the grey and white tie and pushed up his sleeves to be more comfortable, but he still looked stiff in Mundane clothes after so many years of Rayce seeing him in Faerie attire.

"May I?" Zeke asked Clary.

"Of course," she answered, wiping away a tear, "I think I need to go save Sera before things get-" Clary blinked when she looked at the dance floor. "Oh, for the love of _Raziel._ " Magnus was energetically shaking his hips as Jace expertly led them through a complicated set of steps. "I _knew_ Jace was lying when he said he was tracking down rogue werewolves." She stamped her foot and stalked off toward the dance floor.

Zeke watched as Simon smoothly intercepted her and whisked her onto the dance floor with all the grace of a stork on ice skates. In towering heels and a stunning midnight blue dress of satin and lace, Isabelle rescued Clary, and Jace was saved from explaining his secret nightlife for at least another three minutes.

"I'm proud of you, Rayce," the older Shadowhunter said through a half smile as he watched the dancers.

"She's pretty incredible," Rayce agreed while he rubbed at the back of his neck.

"Not just for Sera." Zeke cuffed him in the shoulder. "For you. For not giving up when it looked like you had lost."

"I wonder where I learned that," he answered dryly with a nod to a few of the shattered runes that stood out starkly on his tutor's body.

"Oh, I gave up, boy. Trust me." Unconsciously, his eyes flicked over to where Cassius was bending over to listen to Seraphine near the buffet table while she examined a piece of popcorn chicken curiously. "You don't know the half of it."

Rayce followed his eye line. Sera had clued him in to a bit of what had been going on between the Faerie and the former Shadowhunter, but it still surprised him that Zeke had kept it a secret.

"I'd like to," Rayce said quietly. "When you're ready."

Over an hour later, after a great deal of cheering and booing, Jace had successfully been crowned as the winner of a dance-off that had left Magnus loudly demanding a rematch. The drinks kept flowing merrily, and the guests _ooh_ -ed appropriately when Sera and Rayce cut into the tiered black and gold cake together.

Sera sank into a chair at the deserted dinner table a little while later and kicked off the shimmering gold peep-toe platforms Magnus had paired with her wedding dress. She groaned with relief and closed her eyes gratefully. After a moment, strong hands lifted one of her abused feet and start rubbing gently. She cracked an eyelid open and threw an appreciative grin at Rayce. _Married life is good so far._

They were alone for the first time that evening, and it was a bit quieter away from the dance floor where the party was still going strong.

"Is it all a little unreal for you, too?" Rayce asked as he worked along the arch of her foot.

Sera snorted indelicately and let her head fall back. "You _do_ realize that there's a very real possibility that I could just wake up and find out that this was all just a dream, right? That now I need to figure out what sequence of events will get me here in real life?"

"Don't wake up," he whispered earnestly.

"Not planning on it."

Crickets sang unseen in the darkness around them as they enjoyed the simplicity of just being together with no obligation to say or do anything more than they were. It was peaceful.

"Sera Morgenstern," a woman's voice called from deeper in the orchard.

"Eh?" Sera sat up, confused. "Oh, that's me." _Awesome._ She squinted into where the ambient light faded just two rows of peach trees further away. " _Kaelie?_ "

The blue-skinned Faerie handmaiden stepped forward into the light and dipped her head in greeting to the pair of them. She was holding a small, flat wooden box that gave no hint at what might be inside. Sera felt a prickle of uncertainty tingle across the back of her neck.

"I come bearing a gift from my Lady, in celebration of your happiness," the Faerie recited carefully as she presented the box to Sera.

Rayce gave her a sideways glance. "Why does my sister choose to show her favour now?"

"The Queen did not say, prince Rayce."

Sera slipped the catch open and flipped up the lid. An identical pair of small, delicate chains lay nestled inside. They each bore a token with the same curving, complicated design that was reminiscent of a Celtic knot, though these symbols long-predated the popular emblem. When she lifted one out, she was puzzled to see how short the chain was. They would probably be just long enough to fit as a choker on herself, and Rayce had no hope at all.

"They're lovely..." Sera said slowly. "But they seem a little small for us."

Kaelie gave her the ghost of a smile. "These are not for _you_ _,_ " she answered, stepping forward to lay her hand flat across Sera's belly. "They are for _them._ "

Sera's brain nose-dived. _What, what, what?_ She dropped the box and chain, but Rayce's hands shot out and caught them before they could fall.

"Um, Rayce? Sera?" Aspen's voice called from the table that was serving as a bar and gift depository. Both of them turned their heads in response, and then Kaelie was gone. "I think one of these might be leaking, or something..."

Sera was trying to force her brain to do simple math as Rayce kept a steady grip on her arm. _When..._ The jumble of thoughts bouncing around in her mind ran out of space and started jumping around in her stomach instead. _Idris._

"Aw, come on! Did someone spill the merlot? Those bottles were _expensive_ -" Magnus was cut off by Jace pulling him backwards, away from the table, his face instantly serious.

"That's not wine, that's blood." The dampness was hard to see on the dark tablecloth, but the stain had spread from the unlabelled parcel Rayce had noticed earlier. Jace picked up the knife they had used to cut the cake and gave the box a nudge. There was no response.

He looked over at where Sera was standing in the circle of Rayce's arms and still trying to process what Kaelie had revealed. Jace lifted his eyebrow questioningly and Rayce nodded for him to continue.

Sliding the blade under the ribbon, Jace cut the bindings in one smooth slice and then used the flat to lift the top off gingerly. There was a short message inscribed on the inside of the lid, but it was the contents that caused Jace to shout in disgust and take a step back.

Rayce only had a moment to recognize the face of the severed head before Cassius lunged forward swiftly to lift the macabre box and close his wings around his arms. He vanished for a moment and then returned empty-handed, sparing the younger guests from seeing what had been inside.

"Where..." Jace started to ask.

"Not far," the Greater Faerie answered grimly. "I believe the more important question is _who_ would send such terrible thing."

Alec lifted the discarded lid and turned it so that he could read the message. His brow furrowed and then he handed it to Rayce wordlessly.

"Dad? What's going on?" Aspen sounded worried as she looked at her father, but Jace just shook his head.

Rayce looked down at the graceful script with Sera and felt as if he had been punched in the gut. He would know that hand anywhere. He had grown up reading lessons written with the same flowing grace.

 _Dearest brother,_

 _How fate twists to bring us that which we most desire._

 _Si vis pacem para bellum._

 _With gratitude,_

 _Baelerithon_

A heavy imprint in a blob of black wax below the flourishing signature tugged at Rayce's memory. He recognized it, but couldn't place it.

" _Si vis pacem para bellum,"_ Sera repeated in confusion. "Isn't that exactly what Gwyn said?"

"Yes," Rayce said hoarsely, staring hard at the impression in the wax as his mind churned. _Baelerithon should still be chained in the Eternal Forest._ _What's happening?_

"But what does it _mean_?"

" _If you want peace, prepare for war,_ " Zeke offered automatically.

"Oh, that sounds bad," Simon added under his breath.

"Your brother would not call for war if he did not have the means to fight." Cassius reached out to examine the message himself, and Rayce gave it to him numbly.

The Greater Faerie's grey eyes darkened. "That is the mark of the Unseelie."

Sera's memory sparked to life as her _mnemosyne_ __refreshed the images she had seen in her dream of Rayce's whipping and then leaped forward to when she had laid her hand across the Unseelie King's throat in the final minutes of his life.

"It's from the Unseelie crown," she said shakily. "But that's impossible. What did you do with the body, Cassius?" Her golden eyes held a hint of uncertainty. _Perhaps we were too trusting..._

The other Nephilim fell silent and tension oozed into the night air.

"I bore him deep into the Faerie realm, lovely Sera," Cassius answered evenly, unconcerned by the edgy Shadowhunters all around him, "and gave him to the Eternal Forest so that he may never be found. A fitting end, that he may be consumed by that which he corrupted."

Rayce felt sick as it started to come together. His voice was faint as he asked, "And the crown?"

"Devoured as well, I would imagine."

"No," he breathed, "the Forest is too clever to destroy something that powerful. But I can't understand how Bael escaped. I left him imprisoned by the magic of the Hunt for all time."

"By the magic of the Hunt..." Sera covered her mouth with one hand. " _Kieran._ " She ignored the confusion on her husband's face and grabbed the edges of his jacket. "Oh, my God. The cloak... they're _all_ free, Rayce."

Dizziness threatened to bring him to his knees as the enormity of the unforeseen consequences of what they had done started to hit him. _Bael is free... but he cannot use the Unseelie Crown's power unless..._ His eyes strayed to the empty place on the gift tableand his heart sank as he saw his brother's gambit. ...u _nless an Unseelie heir could be compelled to reverse the binding for a Seelie._ His head fell forward. _Caelus._ Bael had inverted the very plan that Malchezed had tried to force him into with the Seelie crown after his betrayal. His brother's dreams had come full circle in a way he never could have imagined.

"What do we do now?" Helen asked with fear in her eyes. She had seen the Wild Hunt come to Alicante all those years ago, had watched them cut their way into the Accords hall to wet their blades with the blood of children. She knew what the Hunters could do.

Alec looked around the wedding guests and then closed his eyes for a moment before fixing them with a steely gaze.

"We prepare for war."

 _**Author's note:_

 _Sera and Rayce will return in January 2017 for the final installment of The Morgenstern Legacy series, Blood of the Hunt._

 _Emma has literally had the cover for book 3 ready since the beginning of September, but my slow ass held it back so that readers could continue to enjoy the duology while believing that it was the end :D ... because I'm a bastard. XD I intend on giving people a week to catch up in their reading before I post the third cover as a placeholder for your digital libraries. You can add it to your shelf, and then receive updates when I begin posting in January. If you don't make it back before then, keep Exile of the Clave in your library, and I will do the same as I did for PotC where I added the first bit of Chapter 1 at the end to notify readers._

 _Big thanks to Tara for doing a ton of wedding planning back in June and July for this and then finalizing preparations while I was in the hospital – all outfits, decorations, and food were chosen by her. I only managed to wrestle for partial control of the location so that I could get it in an orchard._


	23. Thanks & Acknowledgements

Thanks and acknowledgements:

It takes a lot of time and effort to pull together feature-length novels while working both full-time and part-time between two hospitals, and I would never have gotten this far without a whole crew of amazing Nephilim behind me. I don't know how you've managed to put up with me, but here's to you!

Lifts glass in salute

The best place to start is at the beginning, and that means with the Quiz Up gang in the Shadowhunter Chronicles category. Downloading that app was the first step along my path to get to where I am now. Battling my way up the board as Sebastian Morgenstern was (and still is) one of the cheapest thrills I have access to, as I love playing against the veterans and terrifying the newcomers. Although it amuses me (for the RP value) to see players throw down their arms and surrender when they unexpectedly find themselves matched against me, _fac fortia et patere_ – I'm almost always playing distracted. Test your luck!

You guys were my first readers, and I still remember having a heart attack when PotC crossed the 100-view mark. I never thought it would see the light of day, and I couldn't believe people actually wanted to read my story. (I legit thought it was pity views – still do! XD) Without you guys, I never would have had the confidence and courage to get this out.

Shout-outs to some very excellent and loyal readers who made the leap of faith from QU to Wattpad:

Lunaveon DemonHuntingDemigod DawnOwen6 NotSoAmazingJace Archangel11 crystallize (formerly LawnChairCrisis) Tessa_Morgenstern AnaMorgenstern1 Cecilyheronworm Nephilim_Riptide75 Catharine_Carstairs geNIusHerondale Shrumshine purexcess Ishani_Lighthallow VivianLin383 CoraluvMalecForever SharonHerondale AdeleMorgenstern

Also to Lady Ariel and Kookiez – I'm not sure if I've just completely forgotten your Wattpad usernames, already tagged them, or if they have been changed/deleted. And of course, Beccimon, this is also dedicated to all the red pandas roaming the earth doing panda things :D

If you're a Quiz Upper and I missed you, it's entirely unintentional – comment or PM and I will edit this to include you. Wattpadders should have the pleasure of connecting with the greatest TMI fanboys/fangirls out there.

To some memorable new faces, it's been a pleasure interacting with you:

BeatrixOlderDarkness – At long last, someone who cares for Seb as much as I.

Wordsmith-Rain – Because I think we share a similar sense of humour.

city_of_ducks – Dat username. Kills me every time.

To Lostlaurab and al_oh_om_ora for giving PotC a shout out on Instagram: I appreciate the support outside of Wattpad – increasing visibility is such a gift, and I thank you for doing it! I've had some love from IG account sexyshadowhuntermen as well, not to mention a steady diet of delectable inspiration. If you are on IG, you _need_ to be following that account. Other Instagrammers will find me .star and be quietly amused that I haven't managed to post anything there yet. Emma is still teaching me how to Internet. I am an epic lurker, but feel free to tag me – I always follow up.

I am blessed with many excellent commentators, including:

ImKindOfTwisted – Outstanding top commenter, probably for volume AND quality. I literally drop everything I'm going once you pop your first comment on a chapter so that I can read along with you in real time for your reactions. So perfect – literally makes my day. XD

StuckInMyFangirlLife

beautifulrenegade

mriaherondale29

Thanks to everyone who takes the time to leave a comment – they are a huge boost for morale when I'm trying to find the willpower to keep slugging away at this. I truly appreciate it.

And last, but certainly never, ever, least – my dedicated pre-readers:

Parabatai1046 – Your unflagging encouragement and commitment to resurrecting me from couch-death day in and day out outstrips even Lilith's efforts to raise me. Therefore, it could be inferred that you exceed in power a Greater Demon of the Abyss :D Thanks for providing an unbiased set of eyes for each new chapter and helping to bring this story to my readers on a much better schedule than I would have done alone.

Tara_xxx – Because every writer needs someone who will call them an idiot without the slightest hesitation. If Parabatai1046 offers carrots, you most certainly wield the proverbial stick. A big one. You call me out on my bullshit and force me to explain **in great, painstaking detail** what the hell I'm thinking. For those few instances when I just didn't have answers, you made me sit down and figure it out. Sometimes it took days before I found the proper path, but it was always worth it. You are also the one who Names All The Things, and for that, I'm grateful (since, according to you, I suck at it). Thanks for keeping me humble, honest, and slightly frightened of my IG notifications.

Which brings us to the very best part of starting this adventure: EmaMorgenstern

Are there even words for this? Shakes dictionary upside down "Nitwit! Oddment! Blubber! Tweak!" No, no, no! Not _those_ words! Emma shyly sent me the original rendition of the cover for PotC in April 2016 and it began a wonderful partnership that is so fulfilling on so many levels that it has literally made my life better in every way. When we are both working in tandem, I with my writing and Emma with her editing, the energy that burns across the ocean separating us is a tangible thing. We get into a helpless feedback loop of creativity that leaves us drunk on the characters we are bringing to life and high on a world in which we should have been born. She produces all of these stunning edits on her own, non-existent free time, which shouldn't even be possible because she works even more than I do (Emma has mastered surviving without sleep, I can't hope to match her in that yet). If ever anyone has lived by this, it's you: _Aut invenium viam aut faciam._ It's an honour and a privilege to work with you, and I will never be able to understand why you even talk to me. I may have taught you to have faith, but you showed me how to live for more.

Finally, to you, the reader, without whom these stories would simply sit on my hard drive. I understand that these are full-length books (PotC and Eotc are, respectively, roughly on par with CoA and Clockwork Prince), and I appreciate you taking the time to dive in. It's no small commitment, and I'm glad you came along for the ride.

Many of you have messaged me for advice for writing, and I always respond. I'm by no means a professional, but I do what I can when I can. But I want to leave you with this story and one final piece of advice:

I used to write when I was 11 or 12 (by hand, haha, I didn't even have a computer back then). I loved it. Was my writing good? Um… probably not. Ideas: yes; execution: no. Yes, I still remember them well enough to judge from my adult point of view. I kept a binder full of them and then started a second one when the first started wheezing to breathe. Some idiots at school stole my binders out of my desk, lifted some stories, and circulated them through the class. I was absolutely mortified. Everyone read them. Girls, boys, friends, and enemies. I was absolutely devastated. I kept the binders at home, where my mother found them and promptly began mocking the titles (she was not even someone who read books, so I don't know why I let that crush me, but I was young, and it did).

After that, I took those binders and heaved them into a backyard barrel fire (btw, binders stink if you burn them – don't do that, just burn the pages). I gave up writing cold turkey. My parents told me to stop being an idiot and focus on doing something that was worth a damn. So I did. Now I'm 30, married with a house and a career, and I've finally made it back to my first true love: the written word. Because if reading was an escape and my bookshelf was crammed full of my best friends, what could possibly be better than creating my own?

The moral of this otherwise demoralizing story is to never give up hope. "Never," can mean "Not right now." People are going to tell you that your stories suck, and you might even listen to them. But even if your stories aren't happening for you right now, the opportunity isn't gone for good. Be an idiot. Write like nobody is reading. In the end, it's for you. Whether you do it for the therapeutic value of getting things off your chest, for the thrill of living in other worlds, or for the challenge of simply creating something new, you have to do it for yourself. Not all paths are straight and easy, but don't be afraid of the long, winding ones. You are a mortal instrument, and yours is the song of Heaven. Write your own music and be true to yourself.

Have faith.


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